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The  Man  From  Bar-20 


The  Man  From  Bar-20 

A  Story  of  the  Cow-Country 


BY 

CLARENCE  E.  MULFORD 

Author  of  "  Bar-20  "  "  Hopalong  Cassidy  " 
"Buck  Peters,   Ranchman,"  etc. 


GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  Publishers 

By  arrangement  with  A.  C.  McClurg  &  Co. 


Copyright 
C.  McClurg  &  Cft 
1918 


Msy.  1918 
in  Great 


Brfrtratofc 
to 


M57310 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  A  Stranger  Comes  to  Hastings   .....  I 

II  A  Question  of  Identity 14 

III  The  \Visdom  of  the  Frogs 25 

IV  A  Feint 35 

V  Preparations 51 

VI   A  Moonlight  Reconnaissance 59 

VII   A  Council  of  War 72 

VIII    Fleming  Is  Shown 84 

IX    A  Skirmish  in  the  Night 97 

X   A  Change  of  Base 121 

XI    Nocturnal  Activities 128 

XII   Yeasty   Suspicion 139 

XIII  An  Observant  Observer         148 

XIV  The  End  of  a  Trail 166 

XV    Blindman's  Buff 187 

XVI  The  Science  of  Sombreros 198 

XVII  Treed ,.     ...  215 

XVIII  At  Bay 226 

XIX  An  Unwelcome  Visitor 252 

XX  A  Past  Master  Draws  Cards 269 

XXI  Scouting  as  a  Fine  Art 290 

XXII  "  Two  Ijuts " 299 

XXIII  "All  but  th'  Cows" 312 


The  Man  From  Bar-20 


CHAPTER  I 

A  STRANGER  COMES  TO  HASTINGS 

A  HORSEMAN  rode  slowly  out  of  a  draw  and 
up  a  steep,  lava-covered  ridge,  singing  "The 
Cowboy's  Lament,"  to  the  disgust  of  his  horse,  which 
suddenly  arched  its  back  and  stopped  the  song  in  the 
twenty-ninth  verse. 

"Dearly  Beloved,"  grinned  the  rider,  after  he  had 
quelled  the  trouble,  "  yore  protest  is  heeded  *  Th'  La- 
ment '  ceases,  instanter ;  an'  while  you  crop  some  of  that 
grass,  I'll  look  around  and  observe  th'  scenery,  which 
shore  is  scrambled.  Now,  them  two  buttes  over  there," 
leaning  forward  to  look  around  a  clump  of  brush,  "  if 
they  ain't  twins,  I'll  eat — " 

He  ducked  and  dismounted  in  one  swift  movement 
to  the  vengeful  tune  of  a  screaming  bullet  over  his 
head,  slapped  the  horse  and  jerked  his  rifle  from  its 
scabbard.  As  the  horse  leaped  down  the  slope  of  the 
ridge  there  was  no  sign  of  any  living  thing  to  be  seen 
on  the  trail.  A  bush  rustled  near  the  edge  of  a  draw, 
a  peeved  voice  softly  cursed  the  cacti  and  Mexican 

I 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


locust;  and  a  few  minutes  later  the  shadow  of  a  black 
lava  bowlder  grew  suddenly  fatter  on  one  side.  The 
cause  of  this  sudden  shadow  growth  lay  prone  under 
the  bulging  side  of  the  great  rock,  peering  out  intently 
between  two  large  stones;  and  flaming  curiosity  con- 
sumed his  soul.  A  stranger  in  a  strange  land,  who 
rode  innocently  along  a  free  trail  and  minded  his  own 
business,  merited  no  such  a  welcome  as  this.  His 
promptness  of  action  and  the  blind  luck  in  that  bend- 
ing forward  at  the  right  instant  were  all  that  saved  his 
life;  and  his  celerity  of  movement  spoke  well  for  his 
reflexes,  for  he  had  found  himself  fattening  the  shadow 
of  the  bowlder  almost  before  he  had  fully  realized  the 
pressing  need  for  it. 

Minute  after  minute  passed  before  his  searching 
eyes  detected  anything  concerned  with  the  unpleasant 
episode,  and  then  he  sensed  rather  than  saw  a  slight 
movement  on  the  mottled,  bowlder-strewn  slope  of  a 
distant  butte.  A  bush  moved  gently,  and  that  was  all. 

To  cross  the  intervening  chaos  of  rocks  and  brush, 
pastures  and  draws  would  take  him  an  hour  if  it  were 
done  as  caution  dictated,  and  by  that  time  the  chase 
would  be  useless.  So  he  waited  until  the  sun  was  two 
hours  higher,  pleasantly  anticipating  a  stealthy  recon- 
naissance by  his  unknown  enemy  to  observe  the  dead. 
He  had  dropped  into  high  grass  and  brush  when  he 
left  the  saddle  and  there  was  no  way  that  the  mark* 

2 


A  Stranger  Comes  to  Hastings 


man  could  be  certain  of  the  results  of  his  shot  except 
by  closer  examination.  But  the  man  in  ambush  had  no 
curiosity,  to  his  target's  regret;  and  the  target,  de- 
spairing of  being  honored  by  a  visit,  finally  gave  up  the 
vigil.  After  a  silent  interval  a  soft  whistle  from  a 
thicket,  well  back  in  a  draw,  caused  the  grazing  horse 
to  lift  his  head,  throw  its  ears  forward  and  walk 
sedately  toward  the  sound. 

"  Dearly  Beloved,"  said  a  low  voice  from  the  thicket, 
"  come  closer.  That  was  a  two-laigged  skunk,  an*  his 
eyes  are  good.  Likewise  he  is  one  plumb  fine  shot." 

Ever  since  he  had  listened  to  the  marriage  ceremony 
which  had  subjugated  his  friend  Hopalong  for  the  rest 
of  that  man's  natural  life,  the  phrase  "  Dearly  Be- 
loved" had  stuck  in  his  memory;  and  in  his  use  of  it 
the  words  took  the  place  of  humorous  profanity. 

Mounting,  he  rode  on  again,  but  kept  off  all  sky- 
lines, favored  the  rough  going  away  from  the  trail,  and 
passed  to  the  eastward  of  all  the  obstructions  he  met; 
and  his  keen  eyes  darted  from  point  to  point  unceas- 
ingly, not  giving  up  their  scrutiny  of  the  surroundings 
until  he  saw  in  the  distance  a  little  town,  which  he  knew 
was  Hastings. 

In  the  little  cow-town  of  Hastings  the  afternoon  sun 
drove  the  shadows  of  the  few  buildings  farther  afield 
and  pitilessly  searched  out  every  defect  in  the  cheap 

3 


Tlie  Man  -from  Bar-20 


and  hastily  constructed  frame  buildings,  showed  the 
hair-line  cracks  in  the  few  adobes,  where  an  occasional 
frost  worked  insidious  damage  to  the  clay,  and  drew 
out  sticky,  pungent  beads  of  rosin  from  the  sun- 
bleached  and  checked  pine  boards  of  the  two-story 
front  of  the  one-story  building  owned  and  occupied  by 
"Pop"  Hayes,  proprietor  of  one  of  the  three  saloons 
in  the  town.  The  two-story  front  of  Pop's  building 
displayed  two  windows  painted  on  the  warped  boards 
too  close  to  the  upper  edge,  the  panes  a  faded  blue, 
where  gummy  pine  knots  had  not  stained  them  yellow ; 
and  they  were  framed  by  sashes  of  a  hideous  red. 

Inside  the  building  Pop  dozed  in  his  favorite  posi- 
tion, his  feet  crossed  on  a  shaky  pine  table  and  his  chair 
tipped  back  against  the  wall.  Slow  hoof-beats,  muffled 
by  the  sand,  sounded  outside,  followed  by  the  sudden, 
faint  jingling  of  spurs,  the  sharp  creak  of  saddle  gear 
and  the  soft  thud  of  feet  on  the  ground.  Pop's  eyes 
opened  and  he  blinked  at  the  bright  rectangle  of  sunny 
street  framed  by  his  doorway,  where  a  man  loomed  up 
blackly,  and  slowly  entered  the  room. 

"Howd'y,  Logan,"  grunted  Pop,  sighing.  His  feet 
scraped  from  the  table  and  thumped  solidly  on  the 
floor  in  time  with  the  thud  of  the  chair  legs,  and  he 
slowly  arose,  yawning  and  sighing  wearily  while  he 
waited  to  see  which  side  of  the  room  would  be  favored 
by  the  newcomer.  Pop  disliked  being  disturbed,  for 

4 


A  Stronger  Comes  to  Hastings 

by  nature  he  was  one  who  craved  rest,  and  he  could 
only  sleep  all  night  and  most  of  the  day.  Rubbing  the 
sleep  out  of  his  eyes  he  yawned  again  and  looked 
more  closely  at  the  stranger,  a  quick  look  of  surprise 
flashing  across  his  face.  Blinking  rapidly  he  looked 
again  and  muttered  something  to  himself. 

The  newcomer  turned  his  back  to  the  bar,  took 
two  long  steps  and  peered  into  the  battered  showcase 
on  the  other  side  of  the  room,  where  a  miscellaneous 
collection  of  merchandise,  fly-specked  and  dusty,  lay 
piled  up  in  cheerful  disorder  under  the  cracked  and 
grimy  glass.  Staring  up  at  him  was  a  roughly  scrawled 
warning,  in  faded  ink  on  yellowed  paper:  "Lean  on 
yourself."  The  collection  showed  Mexican  holsters, 
army  holsters,  holsters  with  the  Lone  Star;  straps, 
buckles,  bone  rings,  star-headed  tacks,  spurs,  buttons, 
needles,  thread,  knives;  two  heavy  Colt's  revolvers, 
piles  of  cartridges  in  boxes,  a  pair  of  mother-of-pearl 
butt  plates  showing  the  head  of  a  long-horned  steer; 
pipes,  tobacco  of  both  kinds,  dice,  playing  cards,  har- 
monicas, cigars  so  dried  out  that  they  threatened  to 
crumble  at  a  touch;  a  patented  gun-sight  with  Wild 
Bill  Hickok's  picture  on  the  card  which  held  it;  oil, 
corkscrews,  loose  shot  and  bullets;  empty  shells, 
primers,  reloading  tools;  bar  lead,  bullet  molds  —  all 
crowded  together  as  they  had  been  left  after  many  paw- 
wigs-over.  Pop  was  wont  to  fretfully  damn  the  case 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


and  demand,  peevishly,  to  know  why  "it"  was  always 
the  very  last  thing  he  could  find.  Often,  upon  these 
occasions,  he  threatened  to  "get  at  it"  the  very  first 
chance  that  he  had;  but  his  threats  were  harmless. 

The  stranger  tapped  on  the  glass.  "Gimme  that 
box  of  .45*8,"  he  remarked,  pointing.  "No,  no;  not 
that  one.  This  new  box.  I'm  shore  particular  about 
little  things  like  that." 

Pop  reluctantly  obeyed.  "Why,  just  th'  other  day 
I  found  a  box  of  cartridges  I  had  for  eleven  years ;  an' 
they  was  better'n  them  that  they  sells  nowadays.  That's 
one  thing  that  don't  spoil."  He  looked  up  with 
shrewdly  appraising  eyes.  "At  fust  glance  I  thought 
you  was  Logan.  You  shore  looks  a  heap  like  him: 
dead  image,"  he  said. 

"Yes?  Dead  image?"  responded  the  stranger,  his 
voice  betraying  nothing  more  than  a  polite,  idle  curi- 
osity; but  his  mind  flashed  back  to  the  trail.  "Hum. 
He  must  have  a  lot  of  friends  if  he  looks  like  me,"  he 
smiled  quizzically. 

Pop  grinned:  "Well,  he's  got  some  as  is;  an'  some 
as  ain't,"  he  replied  knowingly.  "An'  lemme  tell  you 
they  both  runs  true  to  form.  You  don't  have  to  copper 
no  bets  on  either  bunch,  not  a-tall." 

"  Sheriff,  or  marshal  ?  "  inquired  the  stranger,  turning 
to  the  bar.  "It's  plenty  hot  an'  dusty,"  he  averred, 
"You  have  a  life-saver  with  me." 

6 


A  Stranger  Comes  to  Eastings 

"  Might  as  well,  I  reckon,"  said  Pop,  shuffling  across 
the  room  with  a  sudden  show  of  animation,  "though 
my  life  ain't  exactly  in  danger.  Nope;  he  ain't  no 
sheriff,  or  marshal.  We  ain't  got  none,  'though  I  ain't 
sayin'  we  couldn't  keep  one  tolerable  busy  while  he 
lived.  I've  thought  some  of  gettin'  th'  boys  together 
to  elect  me  sheriff;  an'  cussed  if  I  wouldn't  'a'  done  it, 
too,  if  it  wasn't  for  th'  ridin'." 

"Ridin'P"  inquired  the  stranger  with  polite  inter- 
est. 

"  It  shakes  a  man  up  so;  an'  I  allus  feels  sorry  for 
th'  hoss,"  explained  the  proprietor. 

The  stranger's  facial  training  at  the  great  American 
game  was  all  that  saved  him  from  committing  a  breach 
of  etiquette.  "  Huh !  Reckon  it  does  shake  a  man  up,'* 
he  admitted.  "  An'  I  never  thought  about  th'  cayuse ; 
no,  sir;  not  till  this  minute.  Any  ranches  in  this  coun- 
try?" 

" Shore;  lots  of  'em.    You  lookin'  for  work? " 

"Yes;  I  reckon  so,"  answered  the  stranger. 

"Well,  if  you  don't  look  out  sharp  you'll  shore  find 


some." 


"  A  man's  got  to  eat  more  or  less  regular;  an'  cow- 
punchers  ain't  no  exception,"  replied  the  stranger,  his 
soft  drawl  in  keeping  with  his  slow,  graceful  move- 
ments. 

Pop,  shrewd  reader  of  men  that  he  was,  suspected 

7 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


that  neither  of  those  characteristics  was  a  true  index 
to  the  man's  real  nature.  There  was  an  indefinable 
something  which  belied  the  smile — the  eyes,  perhaps, 
steel  blue,  unwavering,  inscrutable ;  or  a  latent  incisive- 
ness  crouching  just  beyond  reach;  and  there  was  a 
sureness  and  smoothness  and  minimum  of  effort  in  the 
movements  which  vaguely  reminded  Pop  of  a  mountain 
lion  he  once  had  trailed  and  killed.  He  was  in  the 
presence  of  a  dynamic  personality  which  baffled  and 
disturbed  him;  and  the  two  plain,  heavy  Colt's  rest- 
ing in  open-top  holsters,  well  down  on  the  stranger's 
thighs,  where  his  swinging  hands  brushed  the  well- 
worn  butts,  were  signs  which  even  the  most  stupid 
frontiersman  could  hardly  overlook.  Significant,  too, 
was  the  fact  that  the  holsters  were  securely  tied  by 
rawhide  thongs,  at  their  lower  ends,  to  the  leather 
chaps,  this  to  hold  them  down  when  the  guns  were 
drawn  out.  To  the  initiated  the  signs  proclaimed  a 
gunman,  a  two-gun  man,  which  was  worse;  and  a  red 
flag  would  have  had  no  more  meaning. 

"  Well,"  drawled  Pop,  smiling  amiably,  "  as  to  work, 
I  reckon  you  can  find  it  if  you  knows  it  when  you  sees 
it;  an'  don't  close  yore  eyes.  I'll  deal  'em  face  up,  an* 
you  can  take  yore  choice,"  he  offered,  wiping  his  lips 
on  the  edge  of  the  bar  towel,  both  the  action  and  the 
towel  itself  being  vociferously  described  by  his  sad- 
dle-sitting friends  as  affectations,  for  everybody  knew 

8 


A  Stranger  Comes  to  Hastings 

that  a  sleeve  or  the  back  of  a  hand  was  the  natural 
thing.  "Now,  there's  th'  Circle  S;  but  I  dunno  as  they 
needs  any  more  men.  They  could  get  along  with  less 
if  them  they  has  would  work.  Smith,  of  th1  Long  T, 
over  in  th'  southwest,  could  easy  use  more  men;  but 
he's  so  close  an*  allfired  pe-nurious  that  I  dunno  as 
he'd  favor  th'  idear.  He's  a  reg'lar  genius  for  savin* 
money,  Smith  is.  He  once  saved  a  dollar  out  of  three 
cents,  an'  borrowed  them  of  me  to  start  with.  Then 
there's  th'  CL,  over  east  in  th'  Deepwater  Valley. 
You  might  get  something  there;  an'  Logan's  a  nice 
man  to  work  for,  for  a  few  days.  He  allus  gives  his 
men  at  least  two  hours  sleep  a  night,  averagin'  it  up; 
but  somehow  they're  real  cheerful  about  it,  an'  they 
all  swears  by  him  'stead  of  at  him.  Reckon  mebby  it's 
th'  wages  he  pays.  He's  got  th'  best  outfit  of  th'  three. 
But,  lemme  tell  you,  it's  a  right  lively  place,  th'  CL; 
an'  you  don't  have  to  copper  that,  neither.  Th'  cards 
is  all  spread  out  in  front  of  you — take  yore  choice  an* 
foller  yore  nat'ral  bend.'* 

"Logan,"  mused  the  stranger.  "Didn't  you  say 
something  about  him  before?  "  he  asked  curiously. 

"  I  did,"  grunted  Pop.  "  You've  got  a  mem'ry  near 
as  bad  as  OP  Hiram  Jones.  Hiram,  he  once — " 

"  I  thought  so,"  interposed  the  cow-puncher  hastily, 
"What  kind  of  a  ranch  is  th'  CL?" 

"Well,  it  was  th'  fust  to  locate  in  these  parts,  an' 

9 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


had  its  pick ;  an',,  nat'rally,  it  picked  th'  valley  of  th' 
Deepwater.  Funny  Logan  ain't  found  no  way  to  make 
th'  river  work;  it  wouldn't  have  to  sleep  at  all,  'cept 
once  in  a  while  in  th'  winter,  when  it  freezes  over  for 
a  spell.  It'd  be  a  total  loss  then;  mebby  that's  why  he 
ain't  never  tried. 

"  But  takin'  a  second  holt,"  he  continued,  frowning 
with  deep  thought;  " I  dunno  as  I'd  work  for  him,  if  I 
was  you.  You  looks  too  much  like  him ;  an'  you  got  a 
long  life  of  piety  an'  bad  whiskey  ahead  of  you,  mebby. 
An',  come  to  think  of  it,  I  dunno  as  I'd  stay  very  long 
around  these  parts,  neither;  an'  for  th'  same  reason. 
Now  you  have  a  drink  with  me.  It  shore  is  th'  hottest- 
spring  I've  seen  in  fifty  year,"  he  remarked,  thereoy 
quoting  himself  for  about  that  period  of  time.  Each 
succeeding  spring  and  summer  was  to  him  hotter  than 
any  which  had  gone  before,  which  had  moved  Billy  At- 
wood  to  remark  that  if  Pop  only  lived  long  enough  he 
would  find  hell  a  cool  place,  by  comparison,  when  he 
eventually  arrived  there. 

"Sic  'em,  Towser!"  shrilled  a  falsetto  voice  from 
somewhere.  "I'll  eat  his  black  heart!"  Then  fol- 
lowed whistling,  clucking,  and  a  string  of  expletives 
classical  in  its  completeness.  "Andy  wants  a  drink! 
Quick!" 

A  green  object  dropped  past  the  stranger's  face, 
thumped  solidly  on  the  pine  bar,  hooked  a  vicious- 

10 


A  Stranger  Comes  to  Hastings 

looking  beak  on  the  edge  of  the  counter,  and  swore 
luridly  as  its  crafty  nip  missed  the  stranger's  thumb. 

The  puncher  swiftly  bent  his  sinewy  forefinger, 
touched  it  with  his  thumb,  and  let  it  snap  forward.  The 
parrot  got  it  on  an  eye  and  staggered,  squawking  a 
protest. 

Pop  was  surprised  and  disappointed,  for  most  stran- 
gers showed  some  signs  of  being  startled,  and  often 
bought  the  drinks  to  further  prove  that  the  joke  was 
on  them.  This  capable  young  man  carelessly  dropped 
his  great  sombrero  over  Andrew  Jackson  and  went 
right  on  talking  as  though  nothing  unusual  had  oc- 
curred. It  appeared  that  the  bird  was  also  surprised 
and  disappointed.  The  great  hat  heaved  and  rocked, 
bobbed  forward,  backward,  and  sideways,  and  then 
slid  jerkily  along  the  bar,  its  hidden  locomotive  force 
too  deeply  buried  in  thought  and  darkness  to  utter 
even  a  single  curse.  Reaching  the  edge  of  the  bar  the 
big  hat  pushed  out  over  it,  teetered  a  moment  and  then 
fell  to  the  floor,  where  Andrew  Jackson,  recovering  his 
breath  and  vocabulary  at  the  same  instant,  filled  the 
room  with  shrill  and  clamorous  profanity. 

The  conversation  finished  to  his  satisfaction,  the 
stranger  glanced  down  at  his  boot,  where  the  ruffled 
bird  was  delivering  tentative  frontal  and  flank  attacks 
upon  the  glittering,  sharp-toothed  spur,  whose  revolv- 
ing rowel  had  the  better  of  the  argument  Andrew 

II 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


sensed  the  movement,  side-stepped  clumsily  and  cocked 
an  evil  eye  upward. 

"  You  should  V  taught  him  to  swear  in  th*  deaf  an1 
dumb  alphabet/*  commented  the  puncher,  grinning  at 
the  bird's  gravity.  "Does  he  drink?"  he  asked 

"  Try  him,  an'  see,"  suggested  Pop,  chuckling.  He 
reached  for  a  bottle  and  clucked  loudly. 

Andrew  shook  himself  energetically,  and  then  pro- 
ceeded to  go  up  the  puncher's  chaps  by  making  diligent 
use  of  beak  and  claws.  Reaching  the  low-hung  belt, 
he  hooked  his  claws  into  it  and  then  looked  evilly  and 
suspiciously  at  the  strange,  suddenly  extended  fore- 
finger. Deciding  to  forego  hostilities,  he  swung  him- 
self upon  it  and  was  slowly  lifted  up  to  the  bar. 

Pop  was  disappointed  again,  for  it  was  the  bird's 
invariable  custom  to  deftly  remove  a  portion  of  strange 
forefingers  so  trustingly  offered.  He  could  crack  nuts 
in  his  crooked  beak.  Andy  shook  himself  violently, 
craned  his  neck  and  hastened  to  bend  it  over  the  rim  of 
the  glass. 

The  stranger  watched  him  in  frank  disgust  and 
shrugged  his  shoulders  eloquently.  "So  all  you  could 
teach  him  was  vile  cuss  words  an'  to  like  whiskey, 
huh?"  he  muttered.  "He's  got  less  sense  than  I 
thought  he  had,"  he  growled,  and,  turning  abruptly, 
went  swiftly  out  to  his  horse. 

Pop  stared  after  him  angrily  and  slapped  the  bird 

12 


A  Stranger  Comes  to  Hastings 

savagely.  Emptying  the  liquor  upon  the  floor,  he  shuf- 
fled quickly  to  the  door  and  shook  his  fist  at  the  depart- 
ing horseman. 

"  Don't  you  tell  Logan  that  /  sent  you !  "  he  shouted 
belligerently. 

The  stranger  turned  in  his  saddle,  grinning  cheer- 
fully, and  favored  his  late  host  with  a  well-known,  two- 
handed  nose  signal.  Then  he  slapped  the  black  horse 
and  shot  down  the  street  without  another  backward 
glance. 

Pop,  arms  akimbo,  watched  him  sweep  out  of  sight 
around  a  bend. 

"Huh!"  he  snorted.  "Wonder  what  yo're  doin' 
down  here?  Galivantin'  around  th'  country,  insultin' 
honest,  hard-workin'  folks,  an*  wearin'  two  guns,  low 
down  an*  tied !  I  reckon  when  you  learns  th'  lay  of  th' 
country,  if  you  stays  long  enough,  you'll  wind  up  by 
joinin'  that  gang  up  in  th'  Twin  Buttes  country.  I  allus 
like  to  see  triggers  on  six-shooters,  /  do."  He  had  not 
noticed  the  triggers,  but  that  was  no  bar  to  his  healthy 
imagination.  Shuffling  back  to  his  seat,  he  watched  the 
indignant  Andy  pecking  at  a  wet  spot  on  the  floor. 

"  So  you  didn't  chaw  his  finger,  huh?  "  he  demanded, 
in  open  and  frank  admiration  of  the  bird's  astuteness. 
"Strikes  me  you  got  a  hull  lot  of  wisdom,  my  boy. 
Some  folks  says  a  bird  ain't  got  no  brains;  but  lemmtf 
tell  you  that  youVe  got  a  danged  good  instinct." 


CHAPTER  II 

A  QUESTION  OF  IDENTITY 

MEANWHILE  the  stranger  was  loping  steadily 
eastward,  and  he  arrived  at  the  corral  of  the 
CL  ranch  before  sundown,  nodding  pleasantly  to  the 
man  who  emerged  from  it :  "  Howd'y>"  he  said.  "  I'm 
lookin'  for  Logan." 

The  CL  man  casually  let  his  right  hand  lay  loosely 
near  the  butt  of  his  Colt:  "Howd'y,"  he  nodded. 
11  Yo're  lookin'  right  at  him." 

"Do  you  need  any  more  punchers?"  asked  the 
stranger. 

"H'm,"  muttered  the  foreman.  "Might  use  one. 
If  it's  you,  we'll  talk  money  on  pay-day.  I'll  know 
more  about  you  then." 

A  puncher,  passing  the  corral,  noticed  the  two  guns, 
frowned  slightly  and  entered  the  enclosure,  and  leaned 
alertly  against  the  palisade,  where  a  crack  between  two 
logs  served  him  as  a  loophole. 

The  two-gun  man  laughed  with  genuine  enjoyment 
at  the  foreman's  way  of  hiring  men.  "That's  fair," 
he  replied;  "but  what's  th'  high  an'  low  figgers?  I 
like  to  know  th'  limit  of  any  game  I  sets  in." 

Logan  shrugged  his  shoulders.    "  Forty  is  th'  lowest 

14 


A  Question  of  Identity 


I'd  offer  a  white  man;  an*  he  wouldn't  draw  that  more'n 
a  month.  Any  man  as  ain't  worth  more  is  in  our  way. 
It's  a  waste  of  grub  to  feed  him.  Th'  sky  is  th'  high 
limit — but  you've  got  to  work  like  h — 1  to  pass  th' 
clouds." 

"I'm  some  balloon,"  laughed  the  stranger. 
44 Where's  the  grub  shack?" 

"  Hold  on,  young  man  1  We  ain't  got  that  far,  yet. 
Where  are  you  from,  an*  what  have  you  been  doin' 
with  yore  sweet  young  life?" 

The  stranger's  face  grew  grave  and  his  eyes  nar- 
rowed a  trifle. 

"  Some  folks  allow  that's  a  leadin'  question.  It  ain't 
polite." 

"I  allow  that,  too.  An'  I'm  aimin'  to  make  it  a 
leadin'  question,  'though  I  ain't  lackin'  in  politeness, 
nor  tryin'  to  rile  you.  You  don't  have  to  answer.  Th' 
wide  world,  full  of  jobs,  is  all  around  you." 

The  newcomer  regarded  him  calmly  for  a  moment, 
and  suddenly  smiled. 

"  Yore  gall  is  refreshin',"  he  grinned.  "  I'm  from 
th'  Bar-20,  Texas.  I'm  five  feet  ten;  weigh  a  hundred 
an'  sixty;  blue  eyes,  brown  hair;  single  an'  sober,  now 
an*  always.  I  writes  left-handed;  eat  an'  shoot  with 
both;  wears  pants,  smokes  tobacco,  an'  I'm  as  handy  a 
cow-puncher  as  ever  threw  a  rope.  Oh,  yes ;  modesty 
is  one  of  my  glarin'  faults;  you  might  say  my  only 

15 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


glarin'  fault  Some  people  call  me  *  Dearly  Beloved'; 
others,  other  things;  but  I  answer  to  any  old  handle 
at  grub  pile.  My  name  is  Johnny  Nelson  an*  I  never 
had  no  other,  'cept  *  Kid,'  to  my  friends.  I'm  thirty 
years  old,  minus  some.  An'  —  oh,  yes;  I'm  from  th* 
Tin  Cup,  Montanny.  I  get  things  twisted  at  times,  an' 
this  shore  looks  like  one  of  'em." 

"Of  course,**  grunted  Logan,  his  eyes  twinkling. 
"  That's  easy.  Th'  two  ranches,  bein'  so  close  together, 
would  bother  a  man.  Sorta  wander  off  one  onto  thp 
other,  an'  have  to  stop  to  think  which  one  yo're  workinu 
for.  They  should  mark  th'  boundaries  plainer — or 
put  up  a  fence." 

Johnny  flushed.  "  I  allus  say  Bar-2O  when  I  speaks 
off-hand  an'  have  more  on  my  mind  than  my  hair.  That 
man  in  th'  corral  divides  my  attention.  He  flusters  me. 
You  see,  I  was  cussed  near  born  on  th'  old  Bar-2O  — 
worked  there  ever  since  I  was  a  boy.  That  crack  in 
th'  wall  is  big  enough  for  two  men  to  use.  Thank  you, 
friend:  you  near  scared  me  to  death,"  he  chuckled  as 
the  suspicious  watcher  emerged  and  started  for  the 
bunk-house. 

"You  look  so  much  like  th'  boss,  I  couldn't  help 
watchin*  you,"  grinned  the  puncher  over  his  shoulder. 

Logan  grunted  something,  and  then  nodded  at  the 
stranger. 

"Cut  it  loose/'  he  encouraged.  "I  don't  get  & 

16 


A  Question  of  Identity 


chance  like  this  every  day,  my  observant  friend.  I 
allus  reckoned  I  could  cover  ground  purty  well,  but  I'll 
be  hanged  if  I  can  spread  myself  so  I  can  work  in  Texas 
an'  Montanny  at  th'  same  time.  You  got  me  beat  from 
soda  to  hock.  Yo're  goin'  to  be  a  real  valuable  man, 
which  I  can  see  plain.  Comin'  down  to  cases,  you  ain't 
really  a  cow-puncher;  yo're  a  whole  cussed  outfit,  bar- 
rin'  th'  chuck  waggin  an*  th'  cook.  I  have  great  hopes 
for  you.  Tell  me  about  it." 

Johnny  swung  a  leg  over  the  pommel  and  smiled 
down  at  the  man  who  was  grinning  up  at  him. 

"  Of  course,"  he  replied,  "  it  ain't  none  of  yore  busi- 
ness, which  we  both  admits.  We  just  can't  do  any 
business  on  any  other  understandin'.  But  I  waives 
that :  an'  here  goes. 

"  I  worked  with  the  Bar-2O  till  Buck  went  up  to  run 
th'  Tin  Cup.  Cow-thieves  kept  him  so  busy  that  our 
new  foreman  went  up  to  help  him.  He  stayed  there. 
Red  got  lonesome  for  Hoppy,  and  shore  follered. 
Skinny  was  lost  without  th'  pair  of  'em,  so  he  up  an' 
follered  Red.  Lanky,  missin'  Skinny,  got  plumb  rest- 
less an'  takes  th'  trail  a  month  later.  Then  a  railroad 
crosses  our  ranch  an'  begins  layin'  out  two  towns,  so 
Pete  gets  on  his  hind  laigs,  licks  a  section  boss,  an' 
chases  after  Lanky.  I'm  gettin'  lonesomer  and  lone- 
somer  all  th'  time,  but  I  manages  to  stick  on  th'  job  by 
pullin'  leather,  because  I  was  drawin'  down  a  foreman's 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


pay.  That  ranch  had  five  foremen  in  three  months ;  an* 
they  was  all  good  ones,  'cept,  mebby,  me.  But  when  I 
saw  barbed  wire  on  th'  siding  fence  posts  along  th' 
right  of  way,  sheep  on  th'  hills,  an'  plows  plumb  ruinin' 
good  grass  land,  I  hunts  up  that  same  section  boss, 
licks  him  again  in  mem'ry  of  Pete,  packed  my  war  bag, 
an*  loped  north  after  Pete.  Th'  old  ranch  has  gone 
plumb  to  h— 1!" 

Logan,  a  scowl  on  his  face,  rubbed  the  butt  of  his 
Colt  and  swore  softly.  "  It'll  be  that  way  all  over  th' 
range,  some  d^y.  Go  on." 

"Well,  up  on  th'  Tin  Cup,  Buck  got  married. 
Hoppy  had  been  before  he  left  Texas.  Tex  Ewalt's 
gettin'  th'  disease  now.  He  quit  drinkin',  card  playin', 
an'  most  everything  worth  doin'.  He  ain't  fit  company 
for  a  sheep  no  more.  Not  knowing  he  was  framin'  up 
th'  play,  I  loafed  along  an'  didn't  propose  quick 
enough.  That's  once  more  he  saved  my  life.  Th' 
air's  plumb  full  of  matrimony  on  th'  Tin  Cup.  There 
was  two  black-eyed  sisters  in  Twin  River — Lanky 
takes  one  an'  Skinny  th'  other.  They  tossed  for  choice. 
Pete,  who  was  matrimony  galled,  raised  such  a  ruction 
at  th'  doin's  that  there  just  wasn't  no  livin'  with  him. 
His  disposition  was  full  of  sand  cracks,  an'  he'd  ruther 
fight  than  eat.  We  pulled  off  a  couple  of  hummers,  me 
an'  him. 

"Every  time  I'd  try  to  get  some  of  my  friends  to 

18 


A  Question  of  Identity 


go  to  town  for  a  regular,  old  time,  quiet  evenin'  I 
found  I  didn't  have  no  friends  left;  an'  th'  wimmin  all 
joined  hands  an'  made  me  feel  like  a  brand-blotter.  I 
was  awful  popular,  /  was!  Ever  try  to  argue  with  a 
bunch  of  wimmin?  It's  like  a  dicky  bird  chirpin'  in  a 
cyclone ;  he  can't  even  hear  hisself ! 

"  We  had  a  cook  once,  on  th'  Bar-2O,  that  would  run 
an'  grab  a  gun  if  he  saw  a  coyote  ten  miles  away. 
That's  th'  way  they  acted  about  me,  all  but  Mary,  who 
is  Mrs.  Hopalong.  She  had  th'  idea  she  could  make 
me  all  over  again ;  an'  I  wouldn't  a-cared  if  she  hadn't 
kept  tryin'  all  th'  time.  At  first  all  my  ex-friends  would 
sneak  around  an'  sort  of  apologize  to  me  for  th'  way 
their  wives  acted;  an'  then,  d — d  if  they  didn't  get  to 
sidin'  in  with  th'  wives!  Whenever  I  wandered  into 
sight  th'  wimmin  would  cluck  to  their  worse  halves,  an' 
scold  me  like  I  was  a  chicken  hawk.  An'  I  had  lots  of 
advice,  too.  It  was  just  like  my  shadow,  only  it  worked 
nights,  too.  Nobody  called  me  *  Kid '  or  ' Johnny '  no 
more.  Them  days  was  past.  I  was  that  Johnny  Nel- 
son :  know  what  I  mean? 

"Red  did  sneak  off  to  town  with  me  twice  —  an' 
drank  ginger-ale,  an'  acted  about  as  free  an'  happy 
as  a  calf  with  a  red-hot  old  brandin'  iron  over  his 
flank.  He  wouldn't  play  faro  because  he  only  had  two 
dollars,  an'  reckoned  he  might  need  it  for  somethin* 
before  pay-day  come  around  again.  That  was  on  pay- 

10 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


day,  too!  An'  that  was  Red,  Red  Connors!  Great 
polecats!  Why,  there  was  a  time  when  Red  —  oh, 
what's  th'  use  I 

"  Hopalong — you  call  him  that  now  when  his  wife's 
around!  —  he  was  something  on  some  board,  or  some- 
thing; an'  he  said  he  had  to  set  a  good  example. 
Wouldn't  even  play  penny  ante !  Think  of  it !  There 
was  a  time  when  a  camel,  with  all  his  stummicks,  an'  a 
Gatlin'  gun  on  his  back,  couldn't  a  follered  th'  exam- 
ple he  set.  I  was  just  as  happy  as  a  bobcat  in  a  trap 

—  an'  about  as  peaceful.    There  wasn't  nothin'  I  could 
do,  if  I  stayed  up  there,  but  get  married;  an'  that  was 
like  hangin'  myself  to  keep  from  gettin'  shot.     Then, 
one  day,  Mrs.  Hopalong  caught  me  learnin'  William, 
Junior,  how  to  chew  tobacco.    As  if  a  five-year-old  kid 
hadn't  ought  to  get  some  manly  habits!     An',  say! 
You  ought  to  see  that  kid !    If  he  won't  bust  his  daddy's 
records  for  h — 1-raisin'  I  miss  my  guess;  unless  they 
plumb  spoils  him  in  th'  bringin'  up.    Well,  she  caught 
me  learnin'  him;  but  like  th'  boundin'  jack  rabbit  I'm 
hard  to  catch.    An'  here  I  am." 

Logan's  grin  threatened  his  ears.  "  I'm  glad  of  it," 
he  laughed.  "There's  something  in  yore  face  I  like 

—  mebby  it's  th'  tobacco.    Thanks;  I  will;  I'm  all  out 
of  it  right  now.    How  did  you  come  to  pick  us  out  ta 
land  on?    Pop  recommend  us  to  you?" 

"Now  don't  blame  me  for  that,"  rejoined  Johnny* 

20 


A  Question  of  Identity 


"Anyhow,  he  took  it  back  later.  As  to  stoppin'  in  this 
country,  th'  idea  suddenly  whizzed  my  way  at  them 
twin  buttes  north  of  town.  I  like  this  range.  Things 
sort  of  start  themselves,  an'  there's  music  in  th'  air. 
It  reminds  me  of  th'  Bar-2O,  in  th'  old  days.  A  man 
won't  grow  lazy  down  here;  he'll  keep  jumpin'.  An'  I 
found  a  trace  of  lead  at  that  funny-lookin'  ridge  east 
of  them  freak  buttes;  but  I  couldn't  find  where  it  come 
from.  If  I  had,  I'd  'a'  salted  th'  mine  with  a  Sharp's 
Special.  You  see,  I'm  ambidextrous  —  ain't  that  a) 
snorter  of  a  word? — an'  when  I  ain't  punchin'  cowa 
with  one  hand,  I'm  prospectin'  with  th'  other.  Some- 
body down  here  is  plumb  careless  with  his  gun — an* 
he's  got  a  good  gun,  too.  He's  too  cussed  familiar  on 
short  acquaintance.  But  it's  too  bad  I  look  like  you, 
'though  that's  why  I'm  offerin'  you  my  valuable  serv- 


ices." 


"I  reckon  it's  a  cross  I  got  to  stagger  under,"  re- 
plied Logan,  the  smile  gone  from  his  face;  "but  I'll 
try  to  live  it  down.  An'  somehow  my  trusting  nature 
leans  toward  you,  though  it  shouldn't.  Yo're  a  two- 
gun  man,  which  acts  like  yeast  in  th'  suspicious  mind. 
I've  seen  'em  before;  an'  you  looks  most  disconcertin* 
capable.  Then  you  says  Bar-2O,  an'  Hopalong,  an* 
Red  Connors,  an'  th'  others.  You  talk  like  you  knew 
'em  intimate.  I've  heard  of  'em,  all  of  'em.  Like 
th'  moon,  you  shine  in  reflected  light.  I've  heard  of 

21 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


you,  too;  I'm  surprised  you  ain't  in  jail.  Now  then: 
If  you  are  that  Johnny  Nelson,  of  that  outfit,  an'  you 
can  prove  it,  I  yearns  to  weep  on  yore  bosom;  if  you 
ain't,  then  I'll  weep  on  yore  grave.  Th'  question  of 
identity  is  a  ticklish  one.  It  makes  me  that  nervous  I 
want  to  look  under  th'  bed.  As  a  two-gun  man,  un- 
known, yo're  about  as  welcome  on  this  ranch,  right 
now,  as  a  hydrophoby  skunk;  but  as  Johnny  Nelson, 
of  that  old  Bar-2O,  yo're  worth  fifty  a  month  to  me,  as 
a  starter,  with  ten  dollars  extra  for  each  six-gun.  But 
I've  just  simply  got  to  have  proof  about  who  you  are, 
an'  where  you  come  from.  Let's  pause  for  an  inspira- 


tion." 


Johnny  grinned.  "  I  don't  blame  you;  for  I've  had 
a  sample  of  something  already.  An'  I've  got  a  tail  holt 
on  an  inspiration.  You  hunt  up  that  pen  you've  had 
since  Adam  was  a  boy;  find  th'  ink  that  you  put  away 
last  summer  so  you'd  know  where  it  was  when  you 
wanted  it  in  i  hurry;  an'  then,  in  thirty  minutes'  hard 
labor  you'll  have  something  like  this : 

" '  Mr.  William  Cassidy,  Senior,  Tin  Cup, 
Twin  Rivers,  Montanny:  Dear  Sir:  A  nice 
lookin'  young  man  wants  to  take  seventy  dollars  a 
month  away  from  me,  as  a  starter.  His  under- 
shirt is  red,  with  th'  initials  "  WC  "  worked  near 
th'  top  buttonhole  in  pretty  blue  silk  thread 
i* 


A  Question  of  Identity 


wants  Pete  to  send  him  that  eight  dollars  that 
Pete  borrowed  to  buy  William,  Junior,  a  .22  rifle 
to  bust  windows  with.  Tell  Red  his  pants  wear 
well.  Does  William,  Junior,  chew  tobacco  ?  He 
has  been  shot  at  already.  What  is  this  young 
man's  name?  Did  he  work  on  th'  old  Bar-2Q 
with  you?  Yours  truly,  Logan.* 

"  Exhibit  I :  Th'  red  undershirt.  Hoppy  has  even 
more  of  'em  than  Buck,  'though  Rose  is  comin'  along 
fast.  Mary  branded  'em  all  so  she  could  pick  'em  out 
of  th'  wash.  It  helped  me  pick  this  one  off  th'  clothes- 
line, because  me  an'  Hoppy  wears  th'  same  size.  Ex- 
hibit 2 :  A  scab  on  my  off  ear.  William,  Junior,  was 
shootin'  at  a  calf  an'  I  stopped  him.  He's  a  spunky 
little  cuss,  all  right;  but  they'll  spoil  him  yet.  An'  Pete 
never  did  have  any  sense,  anyhow.  Th'  poor  kid  is 
shootin'  blanks  now,  an'  blamin*  it  on  th'  gun.  An'  it 
was  a  mean  trick,  too.  That  hit  about  th'  tobacco  will 
get  under  Hoppy's  scalp  —  he'll  answer  right  quick. 
You  might  say  to  tell  William,  Junior,  that  I  ain't 
forgot  my  promise,  an'  that  I'll  send  him  a  shotgun 
just  as  soon  as  he  gets  big  enough  to  tote  it  around." 

"  I'll  shore  send  it,"  laughed  Logan,  whose  imagina- 
tion was  running  wild.  "  But  outside  of  the  identity  you 
suits  me  right  down  to  the  ground.  If  Hopalong  Cassidy 
says  yo're  all  right  I'll  back  you  to  my  last  dollar.  You 

23 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


mentioned  hearin'  music  in  th'  air.  It  was  a  tunin'  up. 
Will  you  stay  for  th*  dance?" 

"Sweet  bells  of  joy!"  exclaimed  Johnny,  leaving 
the  saddle  as  though  shot  out  by  a  spring.  "  From 
wimmin',  barb  wire,  sheep  an'  railroad  towns,  to  this  I 
I  can  go  to  town  with  th'  boys  once  more !  I  can  cuss 
out  loud  an'  swagger  around  regardless!  An'  some 
mangey  gent  is  careless  with  his  gun!  You  can  lose 
me  just  as  easy  as  a  cow  can  lose  a  tick.  I  feel  right 
at  home." 

"  All  right,  then.  Strip  off  yore  saddle  and  turn  that 
fine  cayuse  loose,"  replied  Logan,  chuckling.  He 
hoped  that  he  might  be  able  to  coax  the  new  man  to 
swap  horses.  "Th'  cook's  callin'  his  hogs,  so  let's  go 
feed" 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  WISDOM  OF  THE  FROGS 

FOR  two  weeks  Johnny  rode  range  with  the  outfit 
and  got  familiar  with  the  ranch.  There  was  one 
discovery  which  puzzled  him  and  seemed  to  offer  an 
explanation  for  the  shot  on  the  trail:  He  had  found 
the  ruins  of  a  burned  homestead  on  the  northern  end 
of  the  ranch  and  he  guessed  that  it  had  been  used  by 
"nesters;"  and  the  evicted  squatters  might  have  mis- 
taken him  for  Logan.  His  thoughts  constantly  turned 
to  the  man  who  had  shot  at  him,  and  to  the  country 
around  Twin  Buttes;  and  often  he  sat  for  minutes, 
stiffly  erect  in  his  saddle,  staring  at  the  two  great  buttes, 
eager  to  explore  the  country  surrounding  them  and  to 
pay  his  debt. 

From  where  he  rode,  facing  westward,  he  could  see 
the  Deepwater,  cold  at  all  seasons  of  the  year.  Flow- 
ing swiftly,  it  gurgled  and  swished  around  bowlders  of 
lava  and  granite  and  could  be  forded  in  but  one  place 
in  thirty  miles,  where  it  spread  out  over  a  rocky,  sub- 
merged plateau  on  the  trail  between  the  CL  and  Hast- 
ings, and  where  it  grew  turbulent  and  frothy  with 
wrath  as  it  poured  over  the  up-thrust  ledges.  Along 
its  eastern  bank  lay  the  ranch,  in  the  valley  of  the 

25 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


Deepwater,  and  beyond  it  a  short  distance  stood  the 
Barrier,  following  it  mile  after  mile  and  curving  as  it 
curved. 

The  Barrier,  well  named,  was  a  great  ledge  of  lime- 
stone, up-flung  like  a  wall,  sheer,  smooth  and  only  occa- 
sionally broken  by  narrow  crevices  which  ran  far  back 
and  sloped  gradually  upward,  rock-strewn,  damp,  cool, 
and  wild.  It  stretched  for  miles  to  Johnny's  right  and 
left,  a  wall  between  the  wild  tumble  of  the  buttes  and 
the  smooth,  gently  rolling,  fertile  plain,  which,  begin- 
ning at  the  river,  swept  far  to  the  eastward  behind  him, 
where  it  eventually  became  lost  in  the  desert  wastes. 
On  one  side  of  the  rampart  lay  the  scurrying  river  and 
the  valley  of  the  Deepwater,  rolling,  sparsely  timbered 
and  heavily  grassed,  placid,  peaceful,  restful;  on  the 
other,  seeming  to  leap  against  the  horizon,  lay  the 
grandeur  of  chaos,  wild  and  forbidding. 

Highest  above  all  that  jagged  western  skyline,  shoul- 
dering up  above  all  other  buttes  and  plateaus,  Twin 
Buttes  peremptorily  challenged  attention.  Remarkably 
alike  from  all  sides,  when  viewed  from  the  CL  ranch- 
house  they  seemed  to  have  been  cast  in  the  same  mold; 
and  the  two  towering,  steep-sided  masses  with  their 
different  colored  strata  stood  high  above  the  Barrier 
and  the  chaos  behind  it  like  concrete  examples  of 
eternity. 

Twin  Buttes  were  the  lords  of  their  realm,  and  what 

26 


The  Wisdom  of  the  Frogs 


a  realm  it  was !  Around  them  for  miles  great  buttes 
rose  solidly  upward,  naked  on  their  abrupt  sides  except 
for  an  occasional,  straggling  bush  or  dwarfed  pine  or 
fir  which  here  and  there  held  precarious  footholds  in 
cracks  and  crevices  or  on  the  more  secure  placement 
of  a  ledge.  Deep  draws  choked  with  brush  lay  between 
the  more  rolling  hills  along  the  eastern  edge  of  the 
watershed  where  the  Barrier  stood  on  guard,  and  rich 
patches  of  heavy  grass  found  the  needed  moisture  in 
them.  On  the  slopes  of  the  hills  were  great  forests  of 
yellow  pine,  a  straggling  growth  of  fir  crowning  their 
tops.  Farther  west,  where  the  massive  buttes  reared 
aloft,  the  deep  canyons  were  of  two  kinds.  The  first, 
wide,  with  sloping  banks  of  detritus,  were  covered  with 
pine  forests  and  torn  with  draws;  the  second,  steep- 
walled,  were  great,  narrow  chasms  of  wind-  and  water- 
swept  rock,  bare  and  awe  inspiring.  They  sloped  up- 
ward to  the  backbone  of  the  watershed  and  had  humble 
beginnings  in  shallow,  basin-like  arroyos,  which  gradu- 
ally became  boxes  in  the  rock  formation  as  the  level 
sloped  downward. 

But  the  chaos  stopped  at  the  Barrier,  which  marked 
the  breaking  of  stratum  upon  stratum  of  the  earth's 
crust.  Ages  ago  there  had  been  a  mighty  struggle  here 
between  titanic  forces.  To  the  west  the  earth's  crust, 
battered  into  buttes,  canyons,  draws,  and  great  pla- 
teaus, had  held  out  with  a  granite  stubbornness  and 

27 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


strength,  defying  the  seething  powers  below  it;  but  the 
limestone  and  the  sandstone,  weaker  brothers,  betrayed 
by  the  treachery  of  the  shales,  had  given  under 
the  great  strain  and  parted.  The  western  portion  had 
held  its  own ;  but  the  eastern  section  had  dropped  down 
into  the  heaving  turmoil  and  formed  the  floor  of  the 
valley  of  the  Deepwater.  And  as  if  in  compensation, 
the  winds  of  the  ages,  still  battling  with  the  stubborn 
buttes,  had  robbed  them  of  soil  and  deposited  it  in  the 
valley. 

One  evening,  when  Johnny  rode  in  for  supper,  Logan 
met  him  at  the  corral  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"Shake,  Nelson,"  he  smiled.  "Crosby  went  to 
town  today  and  brought  me  a  letter  from  th'  Tin  Cup. 
After  you  have  fed  up,  come  around  to  my  room  an' 
see  me.  I  want  to  hold  a  right  lively  pow-wow  with 
you." 

"  Shore  enough !  "  laughed  Johnny,  an  expectant  grin 
on  his  face.  "  Bet  he  laid  me  out  from  soda  to  hock, 
tail  to  bit,  th'  old  pirate ! " 

"Well,  you've  got  a  terrible  reputation,  young  man. 
Go  an'  feed." 

Johnny  was  the  first  at  the  table  that  night,  and  the 
first  away  from  it  by  a  wide  margin.  Rolling  a  ciga- 
rette, he  lit  it  and  hastened  to  Logan's  quarters,  where 
he  found  the  foreman  contentedly  smoking. 

"Come  in  an'  set  down,"  invited  the  foreman. 

28 


The  Wisdom  of  the  Frogs 


"  We're  goin'  to  do  a  lot  of  talkin' ;  it's  due  to  be  a  long 
session.    There's  th'  letter." 
Johnny  read  it : 

"  Mr.  John  C.  Logan.  Dear  Sir:  I  take  my  pen 
in  hand  to  answer  your  letter  of  recent  date.  Pete 
paid  Red  the  8  dollars  to  even  up  for  the  pants, 
but  nobody  paid  me  for  the  shirt,  ask  him  why 
he  took  the  best  one.  William,  Junior,  hates  to- 
bacco. We  was  scared  hed  die.  He  swears  most 
suspicious  like  Johnny  Nelson.  I  hid  the  gun 
in  the  storeroom.  It  cost  me  $12  damages  the 
first  week,  besides  a  calf.  Can  you  use  Pete  Wil- 
son? I'll  pay  %  his  wages  the  first  6  months.  I'd 
ruther  have  boils  than  him.  He's  worse  since 
Johnny  left.  Don't  let  Johnny  come  north  again, 
and  God  have  mercy  on  your  soul.  He's  easy 
worth  $70,  if  you  are  in  trouble.  If  you  ain't  in 
trouble  he'll  get  you  there.  Excuse  pensil.  Yours 
truly,  Wm.  Cassidy,  Senior.  P.  S.  His  old  job  is 
waiting  for  him  and  he  can  have  the  shirt.  It 
must  be  near  wore  out  anyhow.  Tell  him  it  only 
costs  2  cents  to  write  me  a  letter,  but  I  bet  hell 
freezes  before  I  get  one.  William,  Junior,  raised 
the  devil  when  he  missed  Johnny.  Yes,  he  worked 
on  the  Bar-2O.  If  he  sends  the  kid  a  shotgun,  I'll 
come  down  and  bust  his  neck.  Excuse  pensil." 
29 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


Johnny  looked  steadily  out  of  the  door,  ashamed  to 
let  Logan  see  his  face,  for  homesickness  is  no  respecter 
of  age.  He  gulped  and  felt  like  a  sick  calf.  Logan 
smiled  at  him  through  the  gloom  and  chuckled,  and  at 
the  sound  the  puncher  stiffened  and  turned  around  with 
a  fine  attempt  at  indifference. 

The  foreman  nodded  at  the  letter.  "  Keep  it  if  you 
wants.  They  must  be  a  purty  fine  bunch,  them  fellers. 
I  never  knowed  any  of  'em,  but  I've  heard  a  lot  about 
'em.  *  Youbet '  Somes  used  to  drop  in  here  once  in  a 
while,  an'  he  knowed  'em  all.  I  ain't  seen  Youbet  for 
quite  a  spell  now." 

Johnny  managed  to  relax  his  throat.  "Finest  out- 
fit that  ever  wore  pants,"  he  blurted.  "  Youbet' s  dead. 
Went  out  fightin'  seven  sheep-herders  in  a  saloon,  but 
he  got  three  of  'em.  Hoppy  met  up  with  two  of  th' 
others  th'  next  summer  an'  had  words  with  'em.  Th' 
other  two  are  still  livin',  I  reckon."  He  thought  for  a 
moment  and  growled:  "It's  th'  wimmin  that  done  it. 
You  wouldn't  believe  how  that  crowd  has  changed! 
D — n  it,  why  can't  a  man  keep  his  friends  ?  " 

The  foreman  puffed  slowly  and  made  no  answer 
beyond  a  grunt  of  understanding.  Johnny  folded  the 
letter  carefully  and  put  it  in  his  pocket.  "What's  th' 
cow  business  comin'  to,  anyhow?"  he  demanded. 
"Wimmin,  railroads,  towns,  sheep,  wire — "  he  des- 
paired of  words  and  glared  at  the  inoffensive  corral. 

30 


The  Wisdom  of  the  Frogs 


"An*  rustlers/'  added  Logan. 

"  They're  only  an  incident,"  retorted  Johnny.  *'  They 
can  be  licked,  like  a  disease;  but  th'  others  —  oh,  what's 
th'use!" 

"Yo're  right,"  replied  Logan;  "but  it's  the  rustlers 
that  have  got  me  worried.  I  ain't  thinkin'  about  th' 
others  very  much,  yet." 

Johnny  turned  like  a  flash.  He  wanted  action,  action 
that  would  take  his  thoughts  into  other  channels.  The 
times  were  out  of  joint  and  he  wanted  something  upon 
which  to  vent  his  spleen.  He  had  been  waiting  for  that 
word  to  come  from  Logan,  waiting  for  days.  And  he 
had  a  score  of  his  own  to  pay,  as  well. 

"  Rustlers ! "  he  exulted.  "  I  knowed  it !  I've  knowed 
it  for  a  week,  an'  I'm  tired  of  ridin*  around  like  a 
cussed  fool.  I  know  th'  job  /  want!  What  about 
'em?" 

Logan  closed  the  door  by  a  push  of  his  foot,  refilled 
and  lit  his  pipe,  and  for  two  hours  the  only  light  the 
room  knew  was  the  soft  glow  of  the  pipe  and  the  firey 
ends  of  the  puncher's  cigarettes,  while  Logan  unfolded 
his  troubles  to  eager  ears.  The  cook  sang  in  the  kitchen 
as  he  wrestled  his  dishes  and  pans,  and  then  the  noise 
died  out.  Laughter  and  words  and  the  thumping  of 
knuckles  on  a  card  table  came  from  the  bunkroom,  and 
grew  silent.  A  gray  coyote  slid  around  the  corral, 
sniffing  suspiciously,  and  at  some  faint  noise  faded  into 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


the  twilight,  and  from  a  distant  rise  howled  mournfully 
at  the  moon.  From  a  little  pond  in  the  corral  came  the 
deep-throated  warning  of  the  frogs,  endless,  insistent, 
untiring:  "Go  'round!  Go  'round!  Knee  deep!  Knee 
deep!  Go 'round!  Go 'round!  Go 'round!" 

The  soft  murmur  of  voices  in  the  foreman's  room 
suddenly  ceased,  and  a  chair  scraped  over  the  sandy 
floor.  The  door  creaked  a  protest  as  it  swung  slowly 
inward  and  a  gray  shape  suddenly  took  form  against 
the  darkness  of  the  room,  paused  on  the  threshold  and 
then  Logan  stepped  out  into  the  moonlight  and  knocked 
his  pipe  against  his  boot  heel.  A  second  figure  emerged 
and  joined  him,  tossing  away  a  cigarette. 

The  foreman  yawned  and  shook  his  head.  "  I  didn't 
know  how  to  get  'em,  Nelson,"  he  said  again.  "  I 
wasn't  satisfied  to  stop  th'  rustlin'.  I  wanted  to  wipe 
'em  out  an'  get  back  my  cows;  but  I  didn't  have  men 
enough  to  go  about  it  right,  an'  that  cussed  Barrier 
spoiled  every  plan." 

"  Yes/'  said  the  puncher.  "  But  it's  funny  that  none 
of  th'  boys,  watchin'  nights,  never  got  a  sign  of  them 
fellers.  They  must  be  slide  Well,  all  right;  there'll 
have  to  be  another  plan  tried,  an'  that'll  be  my  job.  I 
told  you  that  I  found  traces  of  lead  over  near  Twin 
Buttes?  Well,  I'm  goin'  prospectin',  an'  try  to  earn 
that  seventy  dollars  a  month.  Any  time  you  see  a 
green  bush  lyin'  at  th'  foot  of  th'  Barrier,  just  north  of 

3* 


The  Wisdom  of  the  Frogs 


Little  Canyon,  keep  th'  boys  from  ridin'  near  there  that 
same  night.  I  may  have  some  business  there  an'  I  shore 
don't  want  to  be  shot  at  when  I  can't  shoot  back.  It's 
too  cussed  bad  Hoppy  an'  Red  are  married." 

Logan  laughed :  "  Then  don't  you  make  that  mistake 
some  day !  But  what  about  that  feller  Pete  Wilson  that 
Cassidy  wants  to  get  rid  of?" 

"  Don't  you  worry  about  me  gettin'  married ! " 
snorted  Johnny.  "  I  saw  too  much  of  it.  An'  as  for 
Pete,  he's  too  happy  wallerin1  in  his  misery.  Anyhow, 
he  wouldn't  leave  Hoppy  an'  th'  boys;  an'  they 
wouldn't  let  him  go.  You  couldn't  drag  him  off  the 
Tin  Cup  with  a  rope.  Then  we've  settled  it,  huh? 
I'm  to  leave  you  tomorrow,  with  hard  words?  " 

"Hard  words  ain't  necessary.  I  know  every  man 
that  works  for  me  an'  they'll  stick,  an'  keep  their 
mouths  shut.  Now,  I  warn  you  again :  I  wouldn't  give 
a  dollar,  Mex.,  for  yore  life  if  you  go  through  with 
your  scheme.  An'  it'll  be  more  dangerous  because  you 
look  like  me,  an'  have  worked  for  me.  You  can  give 
it  up  right  now  an'  not  lose  anythin'  in  my  opinion. 
Think  it  over  tonight." 

Johnny  laughed  and  shook  his  head. 

"Well,"  said  the  foreman,  "I'm  lettin'  you  into  a 
bad  game,  with  th'  cards  stacked  against  you ;  but  I'll 
come  in  after  you  when  you  say  th'  word;  an'  th'  out- 
fit'll  be  at  my  back." 

33 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


"I  know  that,"  smiled  Johnny.  "I'll  be  under  a 
handicap,  keepin'  under  cover  an1  not  doin'  any 
shootin' ;  but  if  I  make  a  gun-play  they'll  begin  to  do 
some  figgerin'.  Gosh,  I'm  sleepy.  Reckon  I'll  hunt 
my  bunk.  Good  night." 

"  No  gun-play,"  growled  Logan.  "  You  know  what 
I  want.  How  many  they  are,  where  they  round  up  my 
cows,  an'  when  they  will  be  makin'  a  raid,  so  I  can  get 
'em  red-handed.  We'll  do  the  fightin'.  Good  night." 

They  shook  hands  and  parted,  Johnny  entering  the 
house,  Logan  wandering  out  to  the  corral,  where  he 
sat  on  a  stump  for  an  hour  or  more  and  slowly  smoked 
his  pipe.  When  he  finally  arose  he  found  that  it 
was  out,  and  cold,  much  to  his  surprise. 

"  Go  'round !  Go  'round ! "  said  the  pond.  "  Better 
go  'round!  Go  'round!" 

Logan  turned  and  sighed  with  relief  at  a  problem 
solved.  "Yo're  a  right  smart  frog,  Big  Mouth,"  he 
grinned.  "'Go  'round'  is  th'  medicine;  an'  I've  got 
th'  doctor  to  shove  it  down  their  throats !  There's  a 
roundup  due  in  th'  Twin  Buttes,  an'  it's  started  now." 


34 


CHAPTER  IV 

A  FEINT 

POP  HAYES  sighed,  raised  his  head  and  watched 
the  door  as  hoof-beats  outside  ceased  abruptly. 

"Dearly  Beloved!"  said  an  indignant  voice.  "If 
you  tries  any  more  of  yore  tricks  I'll  gentle  you  with 
th'  butt  of  a  six-gun,  you  barrel-bellied  cow !  Oh,  tha t?s 
it,  huh  ?  I  savvy.  You  yearns  for  that  shade.  Go  to 
it,  Pepper." 

"'Dearly  Beloved  M"  snorted  Pop  in  fine  disgust. 
" You'd  think  it  was  a  weddin'  tower!  Who  th'  devil 
ever  heard  a  cayuse  called  any  such  a  name  as  that?" 
he  indignantly  demanded  of  Andrew  Jackson ;  but  An- 
drew paid  no  attention  to  him.  The  bird's  head  was 
cocked  on  one  side  and  he  sidled  deliberately  toward 
the  door. 

A  figure  jumped  backward  past  the  door,  followed 
by  a  pair  of  hoofs,  which  shot  into  sight  and  out  again. 
Andy  stopped  short  and  craned  his  neck,  his  beady  eyes 
glittering  with  quick  suspicion. 

"  I  can  shore  see  where  you  an'  me  has  an  argu- 
ment," said  the  voice  outside.  "  If  you  make  any  more 
plays  like  that  I'll  just  naturally  kick  yore  ribs  in. 
G'wan,  now;  I  ain't  got  no  sugar,  you  old  fool ! "  And 

35 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


the  smiling  two-gun  man  stepped  into  the  room,  with  a 
wary  and  affectionate  backward  glance.  "  Hello,  Pop ! " 
he  grinned.  "  You  old  Piute,  you  owes  me  a  drink ! " 

"  Like  h — 1 1  do ! "  retorted  Pop  with  no  politeness, 
sitting  up  very  straight  in  his  chair. 

"  You  shore  do !  "  rejoined  Johnny  firmly.  "  Didn't 
you  tell  me  that  th'  CL  was  a  nice  ranch  to  work  for  ?  " 

"Yo're  loco!  I  didn't  say  nothin'  of  th'  kind!" 
snapped  Pop  indignantly.  "I  said  they'd  work  you 
nigh  to  death;  thafs  what  I  said! " 

"Oh;  was  that  it?"  asked  Johnny  dubiously.  "I 
ain't  nowise  shore  about  it;  but  we'll  let  it  go  as  it  lays. 
Then  I  owe  you  a  drink ;  so  it's  all  th'  same.  Yo're  a 
real  prophet." 

Pop  hastily  shuffled  to  his  appointed  place  and  per- 
formed the  honors  gracefully.  "  So  you  went  an'  got 
a  job  over  there,  huh?"  he  chuckled.  "  An'  now  yo're 
all  through  with  'em?  Well,  I  will  say  that  you  stuck 
it  out  longer  than  some  I  knows  of.  Two  weeks  with 
Logan  is  a  long  time." 

"  It's  so  long  that  I've  aged  considerable,"  admitted 
Johnny,  smiling  foolishly.  "  But  I'm  cured.  I'm  cured 
of  punchin'  cows  for  anybody,  for  a  while.  Seems  to 
me  that  all  I've  done,  all  my  life,  was  to  play  guardian 
to  fool  cows.  I've  had  enough  for  a  while.  Th'  last 
two  weeks  plumb  cured  me  of  punchin'." 

He  looked  down  and  saw  Andy,  feathers  ruffledi 

36 


A  Feint 


squaring  off  for  another  go  at  the  spur,  stooped  sud- 
denly, scooped  the  squawking  bird  into  his  hand,  tossed 
it  into  the  air,  caught  it,  and  quickly  shoved  it  headfirst 
into  a  pocket.  Andy  swore  and  backed  and  wriggled, 
threatened  to  eat  his  black  heart  and  to  do  other 
unkind  and  reprehensible  things.  Giving  a  desperate 
heave  he  plopped  out  of  the  pocket  and  struck  the  floor 
with  a  thud.  Shaking  himself,  he  screamed  profane 
defiance  at  the  world  at  large  and  then  made  his  clumsy 
and  comical  way  up  the  chaps  and  finally  roosted  on  the 
Jmtt  of  one  of  the  six-guns,  where  he  clucked  loudly  and 
whistled. 

Johnny  gave  a  peculiar  whistle  in  reply,  and  almost 
instantly  Pop  let  out  a  roar  and  jumped  toward  the 
door  to  drive  back  a  black  horse  that  was  coming  in. 

"  Get  out  of  here ! "  he  yelled  pugnaciously.  Pepper, 
bared  her  teeth  and  slowly  backed  out  again.  Turning, 
Pop  glared  at  the  puncher.  "  Did  you  see  that  ?  Mebby 
Andy  ain't  th'  only  animal  that  drinks,"  he  jabbed, 
remembering  a  former  conversation. 

Johnny  laughed  and  scratched  the  bird,  which  stood 
first  on  one  foot  and  then  on  the  other,  foolish  with 
ecstatic  joy. 

Pop  regarded  the  bird  with  surprise.  "  Well,  if  that 
don't  beat  all  I "  he  marveled.  "  There  ain't  another 
man  can  do  that,  'cept  me,  an'  get  off  with  a  whole 
hand,  Andy'll  miss  you,  I  reckon." 

37 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


"He  won't  miss  me  much,"  responded  Johnny,  com- 
fortably seating  himself  in  Pop's  private  chair.  "I 
ain't  leavin'  th'  country." 

"  You  won't  have  to.  There's  other  ranches,  where 
they  treats  punchers  better'n  cows.  There's  another 
chair,  over  there." 

"No  more  ranches  for  me,"  replied  Johnny,  ignor- 
ing the  hint.  "  I'm  through  punching  I  tell  you.  I'm 
goin'  to  play  a  while  for  a  change." 

"Gamblin's  bad  business,"  replied  Pop,  turning  to 
get  the  cards. 

"Mebby  some  gamblin'  is;  but  there's  some  as 
ain't,"  grinned  Johnny.  "  I  ain't  meanin'  cards." 

"Oh,"  said  Pop,  disappointed.  "What  you  mean 
—  shootin'  craps?" 

"  Nope;  I'm  goin'  prospectin';  an'  if  that  ain't  gam- 
blin'  then  I  never  saw  anythin'  that  was." 

Pop  straightened  up  and  stared.  "Prospectin?"  he 
demanded,  incredulously.  "  Regular  prospectin'  ?  Well, 
I'll  be  cussed!  If  yo're  goin'  to  do  it  around 
here,  lemme  tell  you  it  won't  be  no  gamble.  It'll  be  a 
dead  shore  loss.  A  flea  couldn't  live  on  what  you'll 
earn  on  that  game  in  this  country." 

"Well,  I  ain't  aimin'  to  support  no  flea,  unless  Andy 
leaves  me  one,"  laughed  Johnny,  again  scratching  the 
restless  bird.  "  But  I'm  tired  of  cows,  an'  I  might  as 
well  amuse  myself  prospectin'  as  any  other  way.  I  like 

38 


A  Feint 


this  country  an'  I'm  goin'  to  stay  a  while.  Besides, 
when  I  was  a  kid  I  shore  wanted  to  be  a  pirate ;  then 
when  I  got  older  I  saw  a  prospector  an*  hankered  to  be 
one.  I  can't  be  a  pirate,  but  I'm  goin'  to  be  a  pros- 
pector. When  my  money  is  gone  I'll  guard  cows  again." 

"Lord  help  us!"  muttered  Pop.  "  Yo're  plumb 
loco." 

"  How  can  I  be  plumb  an'  loco  at  th'  same  time  ?  " 

"Andy ! "  snapped  Pop.  " Come  away  from  there  1 
Lord  knows  you  ain't  got  no  sense,  but  there  ain't  no 
use  riskin'  yore  instinct ! " 

Johnny  laughed.  "Leavin'  jokes  aside,  me  an'  Pep- 
per are  goin'  off  by  ourselves  an'  poke  around  pannin' 
th'  streams  an'  bustin'  nuggets  off  th'  rocks  till  we  get 
a  fortune  or  our  grub  runs  out.  We  can  have  a  good 
time,  an'  —  hey !  You  got  any  fishhooks  ?  " 

"  Fishhooks  nothin' !  "  snorted  Pop.  "  Lot  of  call  / 
got  for  fishhooks.  Why,  I  ain't  heard  th'  word  for  ten 
years.  Say!"  he  grinned  sheepishly.  "Mebby  you'll 
get  lonesome.  Now,  if  we  went  off  together,  with  some 
fishhooks — but,  shucks!  I  can't  leave  this  here  busi- 


ness." 


Johnny  hid  his  relief.  "That's  th'  worst  of  havin' 
a  business.  You  certainly  can't  go  off  an'  let  everythin' 
go  to  smash." 

"  Cuss  th'  luck  I "  growled  Pop.  "  Gosh,  I'm  all  het 
up  over  it!  I  ain't  done  no  fishin'  since  I  was  a  kid,  an' 

39 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


there  must  be  lots  of  trout  in  these  streams."  Then  he 
brightened  a  little.  "But  I  dunno.  You  look  too 
cussed  much  like  Logan  to  be  real  comfortable  com- 
pany for  me.  I  reckon  I'll  pay  attention  to  business." 

Johnny  showed  a  little  irritation.  "There  you  go 
again !  You  do  a  lot  of  worryin'  about  my  looks.  If 
they  don't  suit  you,  start  right  in  an'  change  'em !  " 

"There  you  go!"  snapped  Pop  disgustedly.  "On 
th'  prod  th'  first  thing!  You'd  show  more  common 
sense  if  you  did  some  of  th'  worryin'.  But  then,  I 
reckon  it'll  be  all  right  if  you  does  yore  prospectin'  an' 
fishin'  south  of  here." 

"No,  sir!  I'm  goin'  to  do  it  north  of  here,  in  th' 
Twin  Buttes  country." 

Pop's  expression  baffled  description,  and  his  Adam's 
apple  bobbed  up  and  down  like  a  monkey  on  a  stick. 
"  Good  Lord !  You  stick  to  Devil's  Gap,  an'  south  of 
there!" 

Johnny's  eyes  narrowed  and  he  sat  up  very  straight. 
"  This  is  a  free  country  an'  I  goes  where  I  please.  It's 
a  habit  of  mine.  I  said  north,  an'  that's  where  I'm 
goin'.  I  wasn't  so  set  on  it  before;  but  now  I'm  as  set 
as  a  Missouri  mule." 

Pop  growled.  "There  ain't  no  chance  of  you  havin' 
my  company;  an'  you  leave  th'  name  an'  address  of 
yore  next  of  kin  before  you  starts." 

Johnny  laughed  derisively.  "  I  ain't  worryin'.  An* 

40 


A  Feint 


now  let's  figger  out  what  a  regular  prospector  needs. 
Bein'  new  at  th'  game  I  reckon  I  better  get  some  advice. 
What  I'm  dubious  about  are  th'  proper  things  to  pry 
th'  nuggets  loose  with,  an'  hoist  'em  on  my  cayuse,"  he 
grinned.  "  Ought  to  have  a  pick,  shovel,  gold  pan  for 
placer  fussin' —  'gold  pan'  sounds  regular,  don't  it? 
—  an'  some  sacks  to  tie  it  up  in.  A  dozen'll  do  for  a 
starter.  I  can  allus  come  back  for  more." 

"  Or  you  can  borrow  a  chuck  waggin;  that  would  be 
handy  because  it  would  make  it  easy  to  get  yore  body 
out,  'though  I  reckon  they'll  just  bury  you  an'  let  it 
go  that  way." 

"They?    Meanin'who?" 

"  I  ain't  got  a  word  to  say." 

"There's  some  consolation  in  that,"  jeered  Johnny. 

"  Yo're  a  fool !  "  snorted  Pop  heatedly. 

"An*  so  that's  went  an'  follered  me  down  here,  too," 
sighed  Johnny.  "A  man  can't  get  away  from  some 
things.  Well,  let's  get  back  on  th'  trail.  All  th'  pros- 
pectors  I  ever  saw  wore  cowhide  boots,  with  low,  flat 
heels.  Somehow  I  can't  see  myself  trampin'  around 
with  these  I'm  wearin';  an'  they're  too  expensive  to 
wear  'em  out  that  way.  What  else  ?  Need  any  blastin' 
powder?" 

"  Cussed  if  I  wouldn't  grub-stake  you  if  you  wasn't 
goin'  up  there,"  grinned  Pop.  "It  takes  a  fool  for 
luck;  an*  it'll  be  just  like  you  to  fall  down  a  canyon  an* 

41 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


butt  th'  dirt  ofPn  a  million  dollar  nugget.  I  got  a 
notion  to  do  it  anyhow." 

"  You  needn't  get  no  notions ! "  retorted  Johnny. 
"  I'm  goin'  to  hog  it.  Prospectors  never  get  grub- 
staked unless  they're  busted;  an'  I  ain't  got  there  yet. 
Oh,  yes;  I  got  to  get  them  fishhooks — you  see,  I  ain't 
aimin'  to  cripple  my  back  workin'  hard  all  th'  time.  I'll 
fill  a  sack  in  th'  mornin',  eat  my  dinner  an'  rest  all  after- 
noon. Next  day  I'll  fill  another  sack,  an'  so  on.  Now, 
what  am  I  goin'  to  get  for  my  outfit?  I'll  need  a  lot 
of  things." 

"  Go  see  Charley  James,  acrost  th'  street.  He  keeps 
th'  general  store;  an'  he's  got  more  trash  than  anybody 
I  ever  saw." 

"  Mebby  he  can  tell  me  what  I  need,"  suggested 
Johnny,  hopefully. 

As  Pop  started  to  answer,  the  doorway  darkened 
and  a  man  stepped  into  the  room.  Pop's  face  paled 
and  he  swiftly  moved  to  one  side,  out  of  range.  The 
newcomer  glanced  at  Johnny,  swore  under  his  breath 
and  his  hand  streaked  to  his  holster.  It  remained 
there,  for  he  discovered  that  he  was  glaring  squarely 
down  a  revolver  barrel. 

"Let  loose  of  it!"  snapped  Johnny.  "Now,  then: 
What's  eatin'  you?" 

"Why — why,  I  mistook  you  for  somebody  else!" 
muttered  the  other.  "  Comin'  in  from  th'  sunlight,  sud- 

4* 


A  Feint 


den  like,  I  couldn't  see  very  well.  My  mistake,  Stran« 
ger.  What'll  you  have? " 

Johnny  grunted  skeptically.  "  Yo'rc  shore  you  can 
see  all  right  now?" 

"It's  all  right,  Nelson,"  hastily  interposed  the  anx- 
ious proprietor,  nodding  emphatic  assurance.  "  It's  all 
right!" 

"My  mistake,  Mr.  Nelson,"  smiled  the  stranger. 
"  I  shouldn't  'a*  been  so  hasty — but  I  was  fooled.  Yore 
looks  are  shore  misleadin'." 

"They  suits  me.  What's  wrong  about  'em?"  de- 
manded Johnny. 

"There  you  go  again!"  snorted  Pop  in  quick  dis- 
gust. "A  gent  makes  a  mistake,  says  he  didn't  mean 
no  harm  in  it,  an*  you  goes  on  th'  prod!  Didn't  I  tell 
you  that  yore  looks  would  get  you  into  trouble? 
Didn't  I?" 

"Oh!  Is  that  it?"  He  arose  and  slipped  the  gun 
back  into  its  holster.  "  I'll  take  th'  same,  Stranger." 

"Now  yo're  gettin'  some  sense,"  beamed  Pop,  smil- 
ing with  relief.  "  Mr.  Nelson,  shake  han's  with  Tom 
Quigley.  Here's  luck." 

"  Fill  'em  again,"  grinned  Johnny.  "  Not  that  I 
hankers  for  th'  kind  of  liquor  you  sells,  but  because  we 
has  to  do  th'  best  we  can  with  what's  pervided." 

"  Pop's  sellin'  better  liquor  than  he  used  to,"  smiled 
Quigley.  "Am  I  to  thank  you  for  th'  improvement?  " 

43 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


"I  refuse  to  accept  th'  responsibility,"  laughed 
Johnny. 

"Well,  he  had  some  waggin  varnish  last  year,  an' 
for  a  long  time  we  was  puzzled  to  know  what  he  did 
with  it.  One  day,  somebody  said  his  whiskey  tasted 
like  a  pine  knot:  an'  then  we  knew  th'  answer." 

"You  both  can  go  to  th'  devil,"  grinned  Pop. 

"  Aimin'  to  make  a  long  stay  with  us,  Mr.  Nelson?  " 
asked  Quigley. 

"That  all  depends  on  how  soon  I  gets  all  th'  gold 
out  of  this  country." 

"Ah!    Prospecting" 

"Startin'  tomorrow,  I  am:  if  this  varnish  don't  kill 


me." 


"There  ain't  never  been  none  found  around  here, 
'though  I  never  could  understand  why.  There  was  a 
couple  of  prospectors  here  some  years  ago,  an'  they 
worked  harder  for  nothin'  than  anybody  I  ever  saw. 
They  covered  th'  ground  purty  well,  but  they  was  broke 
about  th'  time  they  started  south  of  town,  an'  had  to 
clear  out.  They  claimed  there  was  pay  dirt  down  there, 
but  they  couldn't  get  a  grub-stake  on  th'  strength  of 
that,  so  they  just  had  to  quit." 

"  That's  where  it  is  if  it's  any  place,"  said  Pop  hur- 
riedly. "Th'  river's  workin'  day  an'  night,  pilin'  it 
ag'in  them  rock  ledges  above  th'  ford;  an5  it's  been 
doin'  it  since  th'  world  began." 

44 


A  Feint 


Johnny  shook  his  head.  "  Mebby;  but  there  ain't  no 
way  to  get  it,  unless  you  can  drain  th'  river.  I  want 
shallow  water — little  streams,  where  there's  sand  an* 
gravel  bars  an'  flats.  I'm  aimin'  to  work  north  of 
here." 

Quigley  forced  a  smile  and  shook  his  head.  "I'm 
afraid  you'll  waste  yore  time.  I've  been  all  through 
that  section,  in  fact  I  live  up  there,  an*  some  of  my  men 
have  fooled  around  lookin'  for  color.  There  ain't  ft 
sign  of  it  anywhere." 

"Well,  I'm  aimin'  to  go  back  north  when  I  get  tired 
of  prospectin',"  replied  Johnny,  grinning  cheerfully; 
"  an'  I  figgers  I  can  prospect  around  an'  gradually 
work  up  that  way,  toward  Hope.  I'll  drop  in  an'  see 
you  if  I  run  acrost  yore  place.  I  reckon  prospectin1 
is  a  lonesome  game." 

"Didn't  you  ever  try  it  before?"  asked  Quigley  in 
surprise. 

"This  is  my  first  whirl  at  it,"  reluctantly  admitted 
Johnny.  "I'm  a  cow-puncher,  got  tired  of  th'  north 
ranges  an*  drifted  down  here.  An'  I  might  'a'  stayed 
a  cow-puncher,  only  I  got  a  job  on  th'  CL  an'  worked 
there  for  th'  last  two  weeks;  an'  I  got  a-plenty.  It 
soured  me  of  punchin'.  Outside  of  bein'  cussed  suspi- 
cious, that  man  Logan  is  loco.  I  don't  mind  bein'  sus- 
pected a  little  at  first;  but  I  ain't  goin'  to  work  like  a 
fool  when  there  ain't  no  call  for  it.  I  might  'a'  stuck 

45 


The  Mem  from  Bar-20 


it  out,  at  that,  only  for  a  fool  notion  of  his.  That's 
where  I  cut  loose." 

Quigley  looked  curious.    "  New  notion  ?  " 

"Yes,"  laughed  Johnny  contemptuously.  "He  got 
th'  idea  that  th'  night  air,  close  to  th'  river,  ain't  healthy 
for  th'  cows !  Told  us  to  drive  all  of  'em  back  from  th' 
river  every  evenin'  before  we  rode  in.  I  said  as  how 
we  ought  to  blanket  'em,  an'  build  fires  under  'em.  I 
reckon  mebby  I  was  a  mite  sarcastic,  at  that.  Well, 
anyhow ;  we  had  an  argument,  an'  I  drew  my  pay  an' 
quit." 

Pop  let  out  a  howl.  "Good  Lord!"  he  snorted. 
"  Evenin'  air  too  wet  for  cows !  Drive  'em  back  every 
night!  An'  lemme  tell  you  that  outfit's  just  foolish 
enough  to  do  it,  too.  He-he-he ! " 

Quigley  laughed,  and  then  looked  at  the  proprietor : 
"  Pop,  we  ain't  forgettin'.  We  both  has  bought,  an'  it 
usually  goes  th'  rounds  before  it  stops." 

"Oh,  I'll  set  'em  up,"  growled  Pop. 

"You  ranchin',  Mr.  Quigley?"  asked  Johnny. 

"Well,  I  am,  an'  I  ain't,"  answered  Quigley.  "I'm 
farmin'  an*  ranchin'  both,  on  a  small  scale.  I  got  a  few 
head,  but  not  enough  to  give  me  much  bother.  We  sort 
of  let  'em  look  after  themselves." 

"  Oh,"  said  Johnny  regretfully.  "  I  thought  mebby 
if  I  got  tired  of  prospectin',  an'  short  of  cash,  that  I 
might  get  a  job  with  you." 

46 


A  Feint 


"  I  ain't  got  cows  enough  to  keep  me  busy,"  explained 
Quigley.  "  We  let  'em  wander,  an'  get  'em  as  we  need 
'em.  Well,"  he  said,  turning  as  if  to  leave,  "  I'm  sorry 
about  that  fool  break  of  mine,  Mr.  Nelson;  an'  to 
prove  it  I'm  goin'  to  give  you  some  real  good  advice : 
Keep  away  from  th'  Twin  Buttes  country.  So  long, 
boys." 

Johnny  looked  after  him,  and  then  faced  Pop,  shrug- 
ging his  shoulders.  "I  don't  quite  get  th'  drift  of 
that,"  he  said  slowly;  "but  he  ought  to  know  th'  coun- 
try he  lives  in.  I'll  try  Devil's  Gap  first;  but  I  got  a 
cussed  strong  notion  not  to !  " 

Pop  sighed  with  relief.  "  Let's  go  over  an'  see  what 
Charley's  got  for  yore  kit,"  he  suggested. 

Charley  James  was  playing  solitaire  on  a  box  laid 
across  a  nail  keg  and  he  smiled  a  welcome  as  they  en- 
tered. 

"Charley,"  said  Pop.  "This  cow-puncher's  aimin' 
to  change  his  spots.  He's  a  amatchure  prospector  an' 
wants  us  to  pick  out  his  outfit." 

"  I  can  believe  that  he's  an  amatchure  if  he's  goin' 
to  try  it  in  this  part  of  th'  country,"  smiled  Charley. 
"Nobody's  ever  tried  it  down  here  before." 

Johnny  was  about  to  mention  the  two  prospectors 
referred  to  by  Mr.  Quigley,  but  thought  better  of  it. 

"  Oh,  it's  been  tried,"  said  Pop  casually.  "  But  they 
didn't  stay  long.  What  you  got  in  that  line,  Charley?  " 

47 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


"  I  ain't  shore ;  but  first  you  want  an  axe.  Come  on ; 
well  saunter  aroun'  an'  pick  things  out  as  they  hit  our 
eye.  Here's  th'  axe  —  double  bitted,  six-pounder." 

"Too  big,"  chuckled  Pop.  "There  ain't  none  of 
them  there  redwood  trees  out  here;  they're  in  Cali- 
forny." 

"Huh!"  grunted  Charley.  "Mebbyso;  but  that's  a 
good  axe." 

"  Pop's  right;  it's  too  heavy,"  decided  Johnny.  "An' 
I  don't  want  it  double  bitted  because  I  may  want  to 
drive  stakes  with  it." 

"All  right,"  said  Charley,  who  had  hoped  to  at  last 
get  rid  of  the  big  axe.  "Here's  a  three-pounder — • 
*  Little  Gem'  —  an'  it  shore  is.  All  right;  now  for  th1 
next  article." 

In  half  an  hour  the  outfit  was  assembled  and  they 
were  turning  to  leave  the  store  when  Johnny  suddenly 
grabbed  his  companions.  "What  about  some  fish- 
hooks?" he  demanded  anxiously. 

Charley  rubbed  his  head  reflectively.  "I  think 
mebby  I  got  some ;  don't  remember  throwin'  'em  away. 
There  was  some  with  feathers,  an'  some  without;  plain 
hooks,  an'  flies.  Brought  'em  with  me  when  I  first 
came  out  here,  an'  never  used  'em.  Ought  to  have 
some  line,  too;  an'  a  reel  somewheres.  I'll  hunt  'em 
up  an'  put  'em  with  yore  duffle.  You  can  cut  yoreself 
a  pole.  They'll  be  a  little  present  from  me." 

48 


A  Feint 


"Thank  you,"  beamed  Johnny,  and  forthwith  Pop 
dragged  them  to  his  place  of  business. 

Johnny  left  the  following  morning,  and  one  week 
later  he  returned,  trudging  along  beside  his  loaded 
horse,  and  he  was  the  owner  of  a  generous  amount 
of  gold,  the  treasure  of  a  "pocket"  upon  which  he  had 
blundered.  He  determined  to  keep  this  a  secret,  for 
if  he  let  it  be  known  that  he  had  found  "color,"  what 
excuse  could  he  offer  for  leaving  that  field?  It  fit 
too  well  into  his  plans  to  be  revealed. 

Pop  grinned  a  welcome:  "Have  any  luck?" 

"  Fishin',  yes,"  laughed  Johnny.  "  Bet  I  moved  ten 
acres  of  gravel.  I  wasted  a  week;  now  I'm  goin'  north." 

Pop  frowned.  "  I  reckon  you'll  have  yore  own  way; 
but  put  in  yore  time  fishin'  an'  prospectin',  an'  mind 
yore  own  business." 

"Shore,"  said  Johnny.  "Look  here,"  unrolling  a 
bundle  and  producing  two  of  the  gold  sacks,  which 
were  heavy  and  bulging.  Pop  stared,  speechless,  un- 
til his  new  friend  opened  one  of  them  and  dumped  four 
dressed  trout  on  the  bar. 

"  Slip  'em  in  a  fryin'  pan  with  some  bacon,"  grinned 
Johnny. 

"  Get  'em  in  th'  river?  "  demanded  Pop  incredulously. 

4  You  know  that  draw  runnin'  east  from  th'  Gap  — 
th'  one  with  them  two  dead  pines  leanin'  against  each 
other?" 

49 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


"  Yes;  'tain't  more'n  a  mile  from  th'  ford!  " 

"  I  found  'em  up  there,  hidin'  in  a  bush." 

"Reckon  you  think  that's  funny,"  grunted  Pop. 
"Why  them's  brook  trout!  I  ain't  had  any  since  I 
was  a  boy.  Th'  devil  with  business!  I'm  goin'  fishin' 
one  day  a  week.  Now  where  you  goin'  ?  " 

"  Got  some  for  Charley,"  laughed  Johnny  from  the 
door. 

Charley  looked  up  from  his  eternal  solitaire: 
"Hello,  Nelson!" 

"Look  what  I  got,"  exulted  Johnny,  extending  the 
bag. 

"God  help  us!"  exclaimed  Charley.  "Did  you  — 
did  you — " 

"  I  did.  Brook  trout,  Pop  says.  Prospectin'  ain't 
nothin'  compared  to  fishin'.  Pop's  goin'  one  day  a 
week,  an'  after  you  eat  these  mebby  you'll  be  with 
him." 

"  Pop  can't  put  on  no  airs  with  me,"  chuckled  Char- 
ley. "If  he  can  afford  to  close  up,  so  can  I.  But 
you  shouldn't  'a*  poked  no  bulgin'  gold  sack  at  me 
like  that!  It  was  a  shock.  Come  on;  let's  take  some- 
thin'  for  it."  He  grabbed  the  fish  and  led  the  way 
across  the  street;  and  for  the  rest  of  the  afternoon 
three  happy  men  discussed  prospecting  and  trout  fish* 
ing,  but  the  latter  was  by  far  the  more  important. 


5° 


CHAPTER  V 

PREPARATIONS 

THE  next  morning  Johnny  said  good-bye  to  Pop 
and  walked  by  Pepper's  side,  watching  the  big 
pack  on  her  back,  while  Pop,  shaking  his  head,  en- 
tered his  place  of  business  and  forthwith  began  work 
on  a  crude  sign  which,  one  day  a  week,  would  hang 
on  his  locked  front  door. 

Well  to  the  north  of  Hastings,  Johnny  came  to  a 
brook  flowing  through  a  deep  ravine,  and,  forsaking 
the  trail,  followed  the  little  stream  westward  and 
evening  found  him  encamped  in  a  small  clearing.  He 
spent  several  days  here,  panning  the  stream  and  fish- 
ing during  daylight,  and  scouting  in  his  moccasins  at 
night.  He  paid  a  visit  to  Little  Canyon  and  explored 
the  valley  he  was  in,  and  at  the  head  of  the  valley 
he  found  a  deep-walled  pasture  above  a  short,  nar- 
row canyon.  Deciding  to  erect  a  cabin  at  the  canyon 
entrance  as  a  monument  to  the  innocence  of  his  activi- 
ties, he  prospected  a  sand  bar  near  by  and  rediscov- 
ered the  gold  which  he  had  found  at  Devil's  Gap, 
which  served  as  an  excellent  excuse  for  locating  there 
permanently;  and  after  a  week  of  hard  work,  the  cabin 
became  a  reality. 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


His  every  movement  had  been  made  upon  the  sup- 
position that  he  was  being  watched;  and  the  supposi- 
tion became  a  fact  when  he  discovered  boot-prints 
along  the  opposite  bank  of  the  creek.  These  prom- 
ised him  a  trail  by  which  he  could  easily  locate  the 
rustlers'  ranch,  and  at  daylight  the  next  morning  he 
was  following  them  and  finally  reached  a  great  ridge, 
which  he  ascended  with  caution. 

Below  him  was  a  deep  valley,  through  which  a 
stream  moved  sluggishly,  and  at  the  upper  end  was  a 
narrow  canyon,  not  more  than  ten  paces  wide,  through 
which  the  stream  escaped  from  another  valley  above. 
Twin  Buttes  were  several  miles  to  the  east  of  him, 
lying  a  mile  or  more  north  of  the  valley.  He  looked 
through  the  deep  canyon  and  at  the  corner  of  a  stone 
house  at  its  other  end,  and  as  he  watched  he  saw  sev- 
eral men  come  into  view.  One  of  them  motioned 
toward  the  south  and  paused  to  speak  to  his  compaiv 
ions,  whereupon  Johnny  wriggled  down  the  slope  and 
set  out  for  his  camp. 

Back  again  in  his  own  valley,  he  built  a  sapling 
fence  across  the  little  canyon,  cut  a  pile  of  firewoocf 
near  by,  and  then  rode  to  Hastings,  where  he  nearly 
gave  Charley  heart  failure  by  displaying  a  pleasing 
amount  of  virgin  gold.  He  did  not  see  Pop  because  on 
the  saloon  door  he  found  a  sign  reading :  "  Back  at  4 


P.  M." 


Preparations 


It  was  a  very  cheerful  cow-puncher  who  rode  to  the 
new  cabin  that  evening,  for  he  was  matching  his  wits 
against  those  of  his  natural  enemies,  he  was  playing  a 
lone  hand  in  his  own  way  against  odds,  and  the  game 
was  only  beginning. 

In  perfect  condition,  virile,  young,  enduring,  he  had 
serene  confidence  in  his  ability  to  take  care  of  him- 
self. He  admitted  but  one  master  in  the  art  of  gun- 
play, and  that  man  had  been  his  teacher  and  best 
friend  for  years.  Even  now  Hopalong  could  beat  him 
on  the  draw,  but  barely,  and  he  could  roll  his  two 
guns  forward,  backward  and  "mixed;"  but  he  could 
shoot  neither  faster  nor  straighter  than  his  pupil. 

Johnny  could  not  roll  a  gun  because  he  never  had 
tried  very  hard  to  master  that  most  difficult  of  all  gun- 
play, regarding  it  as  an  idle  accomplishment,  good  only 
for  exhibition  purposes,  and,  while  awe  inspiring, 
Johnny  had  no  yearning  for  it.  He  clove  to  strict  util: 
ity  and  did  not  care  to  call  attention  to  his  wooden* 
handled,  flare-butt  Frontiers.  There  was  no  orna- 
mentation on  them,  no  ivory,  inlay,  or  engraving. 
The  only  marks  on  their  heavy,  worn  frames  were  3 
few  dents.  He  had  such  a  strong  dislike  for  fancy 
guns  that  the  sight  of  ivory  grips  made  his  lips  curl, 
and  such  things  as  pearl  handles  filled  him  with  griev- 
ing contempt  for  the  owner. 

He  never  mentioned  his  guns  to  any  but  his  closest 

53 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


friends,  and  they  were  as  unconscious  a  part  of  him 
as  his  arms  or  his  legs.  And  it  was  his  creed  that  no 
man  but  hhnself  should  touch  them,  his  friends  ex- 
cepted.  He  wore  them  low  because  utility  demanded 
it;  and  to  so  wear  them,  and  to  tie  them  down  besides, 
was  in  itself  a  responsibility,  for  there  were  men  who 
would  not  be  satisfied  with  the  quiet  warning. 

In  other  things,  from  routine  ranch  work  to  man- 
hunting,  from  roping  and  riding  to  rifle  shooting,  the 
old  outfit  of  the  Bar-2O  had  been  his  teachers  and  they 
had  taken  him  in  hand  at  an  early  age.  His  rifle  he 
had  copied  from  Hopalong;  but  Red  had  taught  him 
the  use  of  it,  and  to  his  way  of  thinking  Red  Connors 
was  without  a  peer  in  the  use  of  the  longer  weapon. 

Johnny  was  a  genius  with  his  six-guns,  one  of  those 
few  men  produced  in  a  generation;  and  he  did  not 
belong  to  the  class  of  fancy  gun-workers  who  shine 
at  exhibitions  and  fall  short  when  lead  is  flying  and 
the  nerves  are  sorely  tried.  He  shot  from  his  hips  by 
instinct,  and  that  is  the  real  test  of  utility.  Had  he 
turned  his  talents  to  ends  which  lay  outside  the  law 
he  would  have  become  the  most  dangerous  and  the 
most  feared  man  in  the  cow-country. 

John  Logan  awoke  with  a  start,  sat  up  suddenly 
in  his  bunk  and  grunted  a  profane  query  as  his  hand 
closed  over  his  Colt. 


Preparations 


"  It's  Nelson,"  softly  said  a  voice  from  outside  the 
window.  "  Don't  make  so  much  noise,"  it  continued, 
as  its  owner  dropped  a  handful  of  pebbles  on  the 
ground.  "  I  wanted  you  awake  before  I  showed  my- 
self. Never  like  to  walk  into  a  man's  room  in  th1 
dark,  when  he's  asleep  an'  not  expectin'  visitors.  'Spe- 
cially when  he's  worryin'  about  rustlers.  It  ain't  allus 
healthy." 

"All  right,"  growled  the  foreman,  "but  you  don't 
have  to  throw  'em;  you  can  toss  'em,  easy,  from  there. 
I've  got  a  welt  on  my  head  as  big  as  a  chew  of  to- 
bacco. I'm  shore  glad  you  couldn't  find  nothin'  out 
there  that  was  any  bigger.  You  comin'  in  or  am  I 
comin'  out?" 

The  door  squeaked  open  and  squeaked  shut  and 
then  a  chair  squeaked. 

14  You  got  a  musical  room,"  observed  Johnny,  chuck- 
ling softly.  "  Yore  bunk  squeaked,  too,  when  you  sat 
up." 

"  It  was  a  narrow  squeak  for  you,"  grunted  Logan, 
reluctantly  putting  down  the  Colt.  "  If  I'd  seen  a  head 
I'd  'a'  let  drive  on  suspicion.  I  was  havin'  a  cussed  bad 
dream  an'  was  all  het  up.  My  cows  was  goin'  up  Little 
Canyon  in  whole  herds  an'  I  couldn't  seem  to  stop  'em 
nohow." 

"  Keepin'  my  head  out  of  trouble  is  my  long  suit," 
chuckled  Johnny.  "An'  there  ain't  none  of  yore  cows 

SS 


The  Mem  from  Bar-20 


goin'  up  Little  Canyon  —  not  till  I  steal  some  of  'em. 
Been  wonderin'  where  I  was  an*  what  I  was  doin'?" 

"Not  very  much,"  answered  the  foreman.  "Got  a 
match  ?  We  been  gettin'  our  mail  reg'lar  every  week, 
an*  th'  boys  allus  drop  in  for  a  drink  at  Pop's;  an' 
they're  good  listeners.  Say!  What  th'  h — 1  is  this 
I  hears  about  puttin'  blankets  on  my  cows  an'  shovin' 
'em  into  th'  river  every  night?  Well,  that  can  wait. 
You've  shore  made  an  impression  on  Ol'  Pop  Hayes. 
Th'  old  Piute  can't  talk  about  nothin'  but  you.  Every 
time  th'  boys  drop  in  there  they  get  fed  up  on  you. 
Of  course  they  don't  show  much  interest  in  yore  doin's; 
an'  they  don't  have  to.  They  says  yo're  a  d — d  quit- 
ter, an'  stuff  like  that,  an'  Pop  gets  riled  up  an'  near 
scalps  'em.  What  you  been  doin'  to  get  him  so  friend- 
ly? I  never  thought  he'd  be  friendly,  like  that,  to  any- 
thin'  but  a  silver  dollar." 

"I  don't  know — just  treat  him  decent,"  replied 
Johnny. 

"  Huh !  I  been  treatin'  him  decent  for  ten  years,  an' 
he  still  thinks  I'm  some  kind  of  an  unknown  animal. 
If  he  saw  me  dyin'  in  th'  street  he  wouldn't  drag  me 
five  feet,  unless  I  was  blockin'  his  door;  but  he's  doin' 
a  lot  of  worryin'  about  you,  all  right.  What  you  been 
doin'  besides  courtin'  Pop  an'  Andy  Jackson,  washin' 
gravel  an'  ketchin'  fish?" 

Johnny  laughed.     "I've  been  playin'  cautious  —  an' 

56 


Preparations 


right  now  I  ain't  shore  that  I've  fooled  'em  a  whole 
lot.  Here,  lemme  tell  you  th'  whole  thing — "  and 
he  explained  his  activitives  since  leaving  the  CL. 

At  its  conclusion  Logan  grunted.  "You  got  nerve 
an'  patience;  an7  mebby  you  got  brains.  If  you  can 
keep  'em  from  bein'  shot  out  of  yore  head,  you  have. 
An'  you  say  they  ain't  usin'  Little  Canyon?  I  know 
they  ain't  usin'  it  now;  but  was  they?" 

"Not  since  th'  frost  come  out  of  th'  ground,"  re- 
plied Johnny.  "  I  can't  tell  you  about  what  they  are 
•doin'  because  I'm  just  beginnin'  to  get  close  to  'em. 
Th'  next  time  you  see  me  I  may  know  somethin'. 
Now  you  listen  to  me,"  and  he  gave  the  foreman  cer- 
tain instructions,  which  Logan  repeated  over  after 
him.  "Now,  then:  I  want  about  sixty  feet  of  rope 
strong  enough  to  hold  me,  an'  I  want  a  short,  straight 


iron." 


"  Come  with  me,"  ordered  the  foreman,  slipping 
on  his  clothes;  and  in  ten  minutes  they  emerged  from 
the  blacksmith  shop,  which  also  was  a  storeroom,  and 
Johnny  carried  a  coil  of  old  but  strong  rope  and  an  iron 
bar. 

"I  never  thought  I'd  be  totin'  a  runnin'  iron,"  he 
chuckled.  "If  my  friends  could  only  see  me  now! 
Johnny  Nelson,  cow-thief  an'  brand-blotter!" 

"You  needn't  swell  up,"  growled  Logan.  "You 
ain't  th'  only  one  in  this  country  right  now." 

57 


The  Mem  from  Bar-20 


"Well,"  said  Johnny,  "  go  back  an'  finish  yore  dr^am 
— mebby  you  can  find  out  how  to  make  them  cows 
come  back  through  Little  Canyon." 

"Yo're  goin'  to  do  that,"  responded  Logan;  "an1 
7'm  goin'  to  close  that  window  in  case  you  come  back. 
I  ain't  forgot  nothin'  you  said — an1  if  we  don't  see 
one  of  yore  signs  for  a  period  of  five  days,  we'll  comb 
yore  valley  an'  th'  whole  Twin  Buttes  country.  So 
Jong!" 

Johnny  melted  into  the  dark,  a  low  whistle  sounded 
and  in  a  few  minutes  Logan  heard  the  rhythmic  drum- 
ming of  hoofs,  rapidly  growing  fainter. 


CHAPTER  VI 

A  MOONLIGHT  RECONNAISSANCE 

THE  evening  following  his  visit  to  the  CL,  Johnny 
went  to  bed  early  but  not  to  sleep.  For  several 
hours  he  lay  thinking  and  listening,  and  then  he  arose 
and  put  on  his  moccasins,  threw  on  his  shoulder  Lo» 
gan's  rope,  now  knotted  every  foot  of  its  length, 
slipped  out  of  the  cabin  and  was  swallowed  up  in  the 
darkness  along  the  base  of  the  rocky  wall.  To  cover 
the  few  yards  between  the  cabin  and  the  narrow  crev- 
ice took  ten  minutes,  and  to  go  softly  up  the  crevice 
took  twice  as  long. 

Reaching  the  top  he  listened  intently,  and  then 
moved  slowly  and  silently  to  a  small  clump  of  pines 
growing  close  to  the  rim  of  the  steep  wall  enclosing 
the  walled-in  pasture,  at  a  point  where  it  was  so  sheer 
and  smooth  that  he  believed  it  would  not  be  watched. 
Fastening  one  end  of  the  rope  to  a  tree,  he  lowered 
the  rest  of  it  over  the  wall  and  went  down.  Paus- 
ing again  to  listen,  he  made  his  way  to  a  line  of  stones 
which  lay  across  the  creek,  crossed  with  dry  feet,  and 
reached  the  northern  wall  of  the  pasture.  This  could 
be  climbed  at  half  a  dozen  places  and  he  soon  was 
up  it  and  on  his  way  north.  After  colliding  with  sev- 

59 


The  Mem  from  Bar-20 


eral  bowlders  and  tripping  twice  he  waited  until  the 
moon  arose  and  then  went  on  again  at  a  creditable 
speed. 

The  crescent  moon  had  risen  well  above  the  tops 
of  Twin  Buttes  when  a  man  in  moccasins  moved  cau- 
tiously across  a  high  plateau  some  miles  north  of  Nel- 
son's creek  and  finally  dropped  to  all  fours  and  pro- 
ceeded much  more  slowly.  From  all  fours  to  stomach 
was  his  next  choice  and  he  wriggled  toward  the  edge 
of  the  plateau,  pausing  every  foot  or  so  to  remove 
loose  stones.  These  he  put  aside  before  going  on 
again,  for  there  is  no  telling  where  a  rolling  pebble 
will  stop,  or  the  noise  it  may  make,  when  the  edge 
of  a  mesa  wall  is  but  a  few  feet  away.  Coming  to 
within  an  arm's  length  of  the  edge,  he  first  made  sure 
that  the  rim  was  solid  rock  and  free  from  dirt  and 
pebbles ;  and  then,  hitching  forward  slowly,  he  peered 
down  into  the  deep  valley. 

Its  immensity  amazed  him,  for  upon  the  occasion 
of  his  former  reconnaissance  he  had  viewed  it  from 
the  outside ;  and  as  a  picture  of  his  own  pasture  flashed 
into  his  mind  he  snorted  softly  at  the  contrast,  for 
where  he  had  acres,  this  .great  "sink"  had  square 
miles.  It  was  wider  than  his  own  was  long,  and  it 
stretched  away  in  the  faint  moonlight  until  its  upper 
reaches  were  lost  to  his  eyes.  It  was  large  enough 
to  hold  one  great  butte  in  its  middle,  and  perhaps  there 

60 


A  Moonlight  Reconnaissance 


were  more ;  and  from  where  he  lay  he  judged  the  wall 
below  him  dropped  straight  down  for  three  hundred 
feet. 

"  There  ain't  no  line  ridin'  here,  unless  th'  cows  grow 
wings,"  he  muttered. 

To  the  south  of  him  were  four  lighted  windows  near 
the  forbidding  blackness  of  the  entrance  canyon,  and 
from  their  spacing  he  deduced  two  houses.  And  across 
from  the  windows  he  could  make  out  a  vague  quad- 
rangle, which  experience  told  him  was  the  horse  cor- 
ral. As  if  to  confirm  his  judgment  there  came  from 
it  at  that  moment  a  shrill  squeal  and  the  sound  of 
hoofs  on  wood,  muffled  by  the  distance.  And  from 
the  corral  extended  a  faint  line  which  ran  across  the 
valley  and  became  lost  in  the  darkness  near  the  oppo- 
site  cliff.  This  he  knew  to  be  a  fence. 

"If  this  valley  ends  like  it  begins,  three  or  four 
men  can  handle  an  awful  lot  of  cows,  'cept  at  drive 
time,"  he  soliloquized,  and  then  listened  intently  to 
the  sound  of  distant  voices. 

....  many  happy  hours  away, 
A  sittin    an'  a  singin    by  a  little  cottage  do-o-rf 
Where  lived  my  darlin*  N el-lie  Gr-a-ayt 

came  floating  faintly  from  far  below  him. 

He  peered  in  the  direction  of  the  singing  and  barely 
made  out  a  moving  blot  well  out  in  the  valley.  As  it 

6l 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


came  steadily  nearer,  the  blot  resolved  itself  into  sev- 
eral dots,  and  the  chorus  had  greater  volume.  It 
appeared  that  the  group  was  harmonizing. 

"You'll  be  doin'  somethin'  more  than  sittin'  an1 
singin*  at  yore  little  cottage  door  one  of  these  days," 
grunted  Johnny  savagely.  It  was  his  rebuff  to  the 
thought  which  came  to  him  of  how  long  it  had  been 
since  he  had  ruined  the  silence  in  company  with  his 
friends.  "That  first  feller  is  purty  good;  but  one  of 
'em  shore  warbles  like  a  sick  calf." 

Several  other  dots  arose  suddenly  from  the  earth 
and  lumbered  sleepily  away  as  the  horsemen  ap* 
preached  them. 

"There's  some  of  Logan's  cows,  I  reckon,"  grunted 
the  watcher  grimly.  "Wish  I  could  see  better.  I've 
got  to  do  my  prospectin'  in  daylight;  an'  I  got  to  find 
some  way  to  ride  over  here  —  waste  too  much  time 
on  foot." 

More  squealing  came  from  the  corral  and  grew  in 
volume  as  other  horses  joined  in  it.  From  the  noise 
it  appeared  to  be  turning  into  a  free-for-all.  A  door 
in  one  of  the  distant  houses  suddenly  opened  and 
framed  a  rectangular  patch  of  light,  dull  and  yellow; 
and  from  it  emerged  a  bright  little  light  which  swung 
in  short,  jerky  arcs  close  to  the  ground  and  went  rap- 
idly toward  the  corral.  Soon  thereafter  the  squeal- 
ing ceased  and  a  moment  later  the  little  light  went 

62 


A  Moonlight  Reconnaissance 


bobbing  back  again,  blotted  out  in  rhythmic  dashes 
by  the  swinging  legs  beside  it. 

"  Big  Jerry  fightin'  again,"  laughed  one  of  the  horse- 
men during  a  pause  in  the  singing.  Johnny  barely  was 
able  to  hear  him. 

Oh  my  darlin  Nellie  Gra-a-y,  they  have  taken  her  awa-a-y; 
An  I'll  never  see  my  darlin'  any  more  —  ANY  MORE ! 

rumbled  the  harmonizers,  bursting  into  a  thundering 
perpetration  on  the  repetition  of  the  last  two  words. 

"Th'  farther  off  they  get  th1  better  they  sound," 
growled  Johnny  as  the  harmonizers  were  swallowed 
up  in  the  darkness  near  the  opposite  cliff.  "They'd 
sound  better  at  about  ten  miles." 

Lying  comfortably  on  his  stomach,  his  head  out  over 
the  rim  of  the  wall,  he  was  lost  in  thought  when  a 
sudden,  startled  snort  behind  him  nearly  caused  him 
to  go  over  the  edge.  A  contortionist  hardly  could 
have  changed  ends  quicker  than  he  did;  he  simply 
went  up  in  the  air  and  when  he  came  down  again  he 
was  on  hands  and  knees,  one  foot  where  his  head 
had  been.  But  he  did  not  stop  there;  indeed,  he  did 
not  even  pause  there,  for  he  kept  on  moving  until  he 
was  on  his  feet,  his  knees  bent  and  his  head  thrust  for- 
ward, and  each  hand,  without  conscious  direction,  held 
a  gun.  And  almost  instantly  they  chocked  back  into 
the  holsters. 

63 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


A  gray  shape  was  backing  slowly  into  the  shadows 
of  a  bowlder,  two  green  eyes  boring  through  the 
gloom,  and  Johnny's  hair  became  ambitious. 

"  I  dassn't  shoot,  I  dassn't  run,  an'  I  can't  back  up  1 
All  right;  when  in  doubt  try  a  bluff;  but  I  shore  hopes 
it's  th'  bluffin'  kind!" 

He  emitted  a  throaty,  ferocious  snarl,  dropped  the 
tips  of  his  fingers  to  the  earth  and  started  for  the 
bowlder  and  the  green  eyes,  on  a  series  of  back-hump- 
ing, awkward  jumps,  like  a  weak-kneed  calf  cavorting 
playfully.  Another  snort,  curious,  incredulous,  fright- 
ened, came  from  the  bowlder  and  a  great  gray  wolf 
backed  off  hastily,  but  with  a  hesitating  uncertainty 
which  was  not  as  reassuring  as  might  be  hoped  for. 

Johnny  let  out  another  snarl,  more  terrifying  than 
the  first,  humped  his  back  energetically,  waved  his  legs, 
and  then  with  a  low-toned  but  blood-curdling  shriek, 
leaped  at  the  wavering  cow-killer.  The  gray  silhouette 
lengthened  and  vanished,  simply  melting  into  the  dark- 
ness as  though  it  had  urgent  business  elsewhere. 

Johnny  arose,  a  rock  in  his  hand,  and  sighed  with 
relief;  and  his  ambitious  hair  settled  back  again  into 
its  accustomed  place  while  the  prickling  along  his  spine 
died  out. 

"Holy  smoke!  What  if  it  had  been  half-starved, 
or  a  grizzly!  Blast  you!"  he  growled,  shaking  a 
vengeful  fist  at  the  presumed  locality  of  the  wolf. 


A  Moonlight  Reconnaissance 


"  You  just  come  snortin'  around  my  valley !  I'll  shoot 
yore  insides  all  over  th'  landscape !  " 

Hanging  onto  the  rock,  he  readjusted  his  belts  and 
went  nearer  the  entrance  canyon  to  get  a  closer  view 
of  the  houses  and  surroundings.  When  again  he 
looked  over  the  edge  of  the  precipice  he  was  directly 
over  the  corral  and  across  from  the  houses,  which  the 
rays  of  the  moon,  slanting  through  a  break  in  the  op- 
posite cliff,  now  faintly  revealed. 

There  were  three  houses  and  they  were  low,  long 
and  narrow,  and  built  of  stone,  with  the  customary 
adobe  roofs;  and  they  were  built  in  echelon,  the  three 
end  walls  appearing  as  one  from  the  canyon.  He 
nodded  appreciatively,  for  it  required  no  great  im- 
agination to  see,  in  his  mind's  eye,  the  loopholes  which 
undoubtedly  ornamented  that  end  of  the  houses.  The 
narrow  canyon,  straight  as  an  arrow  and  fully  half  a 
mile  long,  lay  at  almost  perfect  right  angles  to  the 
three  walls.  A  handful  of  determined  men,  cool  and 
accurate,  in  those  houses  could  hold  the  canyon  against 
great  odds  while  their  food,  water  and  ammunition 
held  out.  Moving  his  head,  he  caught  a  sudden  glint, 
and  peered  intently  to  discover  what  had  caused  it. 
He  moved  again  until  he  saw  it  the  second  time,  and 
then  he  knew.  A  small  trickle  of  water  flowed  from 
a  spring  back  near  the  great  wall,  and  it  passed  under 
one  corner  of  each  house. 

6s 


The  Mem  from  Bar-20 


"That's  purty  good!"  he  ejaculated  in  ungrudging 
admiration.  He  was  something  of  a  strategist  him- 
self and  he  was  not  slow  to  pay  respect  to  the  handi- 
work of  genius  when  he  saw  it.  "  Built  'em  like  steps 
so  as  to  cover  th'  canyon  from  all  three  houses;  an' 
diverted  that  little  stream  so  they  could  get  water  with- 
out showing  themselves.  No  matter  which  side  of 
them  houses  is  rushed,  there  is  allus  three  walls  to 
face.  Th'  only  weak  spots  are  th'  north  an'  south 
corners.  If  they  ain't  loopholed  a  good  man  could 
sneak  right  up  to  th'  corner  of  th'  end  houses;  but 
what  he'd  do  after  he  got  there,  I  don't  know." 

He  studied  the  problem  in  silence  and  then  nodded 
his  head:  "Huh!  Them  walls  don't  overhang,  an' 
so  they  can't  shoot  down  close  to  'em.  Mebby  I've 
found  th'  weak  spot — but  I'll  have  to  get  a  whole  lot 
closer  than  I  am  now  before  I'm  shore  of  it.  An'  that 
can  wait." 

He  wriggled  back  from  the  wall  and  arose.  "Seen 
all  I  can  at  night.  Don't  even  know  if  these  fellers  are 
rustlin'.  Bein'  suspicious  an'  bein'  shore  ain't  th' 
same.  But  th'  next  time  I  come  up  here  I  won't  leave 
until  I  am  shore,  not  if  it  takes  all  summer.  Logan 
said  to  be  shore  to  find  out  how  many  there  are,  their 
trail  from  his  ranch  an'  th'  place  where  they  operates 
on  th'  CL.  Says  he's  got  to  get  'em  actually  stealin' 
his  cows  on  his  ranch.  Says  he  ain't  got  no  friends 

66 


A  Moonlight  Reconnaissance 


out  here  and  that  th'  other  ranches  acts  like  they  was 
sort  of  on  th'  side  of  th'  thieves.  That's  a  h — 1  of  a 
note,  that  is !  Buck,  an'  Hoppy,  an'  us :  we  never  gave 
a  whoop  where  we  found  rustlers  if  they  had  our  cows ; 
an'  we  never  gave  two  whoops  in  h — 1  what  th'  rest 
of  th'  country  thought  about  it.  Times  have  changed. 
Imagine  us  askin'  anybody  if  we  could  shoot  rustlers ! 
Huh ! " 

He  started  back  the  way  he  had  come  up,  and  reached 
his  own  valley  without  incident ;  but  when  he  wriggled 
toward  the  wall  he  was  puzzled,  and  worried.  There 
was  the  clump  of  pines  up  above  him,  ghostly  in  the 
faint  moonlight;  but  he  could  see  no  rope.  Thankful 
that  he  had  been  cautious  in  crossing  the  valley,  he 
wriggled  a  little  closer  and  then  started  back  over  his 
trail,  recrossed  the  valley,  climbed  the  other  wall  in 
the  shelter  offered  by  a  crevice  and  slipped  along  the 
great  ridge.  All  he  cared  about  now  was  to  get  back 
into  the  cabin  without  being  seen.  All  kinds  of  con- 
jectures ran  through  his  head  concerning  the  absence 
of  the  rope,  and  while  he  thrashed  them  out  he  kept 
going  ahead,  careful  to  take  full  advantage  of  the 
wealth  of  cover  at  hand. 

His  senses  were  keyed  to  their  highest  pitch  of  ef- 
ficiency and  at  times  he  concentrated  on  one  of  them 
at  the  expense  of  the  others.  While  he  used  his  eyes 
constantly,  it  was  in  his  ears  that  he  placed  the  most 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


confidence.  The  man  who  does  the  moving  about  is  at 
a  disadvantage,  which  he  keenly  realized. 

He  did  not  mind  so  much  being  away  from  the 
cabin  if  he  could  make  it  appear  to  be  innocent;  and 
to  that  end  he  moved  steadily  toward  the  Hastings 
trail.  His  horse  was  not  to  be  seen,  and  that  wor- 
ried him.  It  could  have  strayed,  for  he  had  neither 
picketed  nor  hobbled  it,  but  he  feared  that  it  had  not 
strayed. 

Passing  his  old  camp  site  he  heard  a  noise,  and  flat- 
tened himself  on  the  ground.  It  came  again  and  from 
the  edge  of  the  clearing  where  he  had  spent  his  first 
few  nights  in  the  valley.  Anyone  foolish  enough  to 
make  a  noise,  under  the  circumstances,  was  foolish 
enough  to  be  stalked  by  any  man  who  had  good  sense ; 
and  he  proceeded  to  do  the  stalking. 

It  took  him  quite  a  while  to  get  around  back  of  the 
place  where  his  tent  had  stood,  but  when  he  finally 
got  there  he  was  repaid  for  his  time  and  trouble.  It 
was  not  the  direction  from  which  he  would  be  expected, 
if  the  rustlers'  suspicions  were  aroused;  and  there  was 
a  certain  twisting  path  through  the  brush  which  was 
devoid  of  twigs  and  sticks. 

Foot  by  foot  he  crept  forward  until  he  could  see 
the  big  bowlder  in  the  clearing,  and  then  he  paused 
as  the  sound  was  heard  again,  and  he  tried  to  classify 
it  A  twig  snapped,  and  then  another  sound  made 

68 


A  Moonlight  Reconnaissance 


him  nod  quickly.  It  was  a  horse;  that  was  certain; 
but  could  it  be  Pepper?  While  he  pondered  and  lis- 
tened to  the  slow,  interrupted  steps,  a  dark  shape 
moved  out  from  the  deep  shadows  of  the  trees,  pricked 
its  ears,  stretched  out  its  head  toward  him,  nickered 
softly  and  slowly  advanced. 

He  stared  in  amazement,  for  while  it  was  Pepper, 
the  saddle  was  on  her  back;  and  when  he  had  left 
the  cabin  the  saddle  was  inside.  But,  was  it,  though? 
In  a  moment  his- mind  had,  marshaled  in  review  be- 
fore him  all  his  acts  of  the  previous  day;  all  but  one. 
Had  he  unsaddled  the  horse  when  he  had  ridden 
back  from  the  upper  end  of  his  little  valley?  Of 
course  he  had;  why  should  he  have  neglected  to  do 
such  a  thing  as  that?  But,  perhaps  he  hadn't.  He 
swore  under  his  breath  and  backed  away,  for  the  horse 
was  coming  nearer  all  the  time.  It  was  his  saddle; 
he  could  tell  that  easily.  And  then  all  of  his  doubts 
cleared  in  a  flash.  When  he  had  ridden  in  from  the 
pasture  he  had  started  to  remove  the  saddle,  but 
when  he  thought  of  his  boiling  pots  he  had  pushed  the 
end  of  the  cinch  strap  back  under  the  little  holding 
strap,  and  he  had  not  shoved  it  home.  Right  now 
that  cinch  end  should  be  sticking  out  in  a  loop.  Cran- 
ing his  neck  and  shifting  silently  he  managed  to  see 
it;  and  a  chuckle  escaped  from  him.  He  whistled 
softly,  so  softly  that  anyone  a  hundred  feet  away  could 

69  / 


The  Mem  from  Bar-20 


not  have  heard  it;  but  the  horse  heard  it  and  nickered 
again.  What  fools  these  men  were !  Did  her  master 
think  that  she  had  to  hear  a  whistle  to  know  that 
he  was  about,  when  the  wind  was  right  and  he  was 
so  close? 

Pepper  was  a  well-trained,  intelligent  animal,  and 
Johnny  knew  it  better  than  anyone  else;  and  Pepper 
had  a  strong  aversion  to  strangers,  which  he  also 
knew;  and  knowing  that,  he  was  instantly  assured  that 
there  were  no  strangers  in  the  immediate  vicinity  be- 
cause Pepper  was  thoroughly  at  her  ease.  The  black 
head  thrust  forward  into  his  face  and  the  bared  teeth 
snapped  at  him,  whereupon  he  playfully  cuffed  the 
velvety  nozzle.  Pepper  forthwith  swung  her  head 
suddenly  and  knocked  off  her  master's  hat,  and  pre- 
tended to  be  in  a  fine  rage. 

"You  old  coyote!"  chuckled  Johnny,  cuffing  her 
again.  "  Cussed  if  you  ain't  th'  most  no-account  old 
fool  I  ever  saw.  But  I  ought  to  be  kicked  from  here 
to  Hastings  an'  back  again  for  leavin'  that  saddle  on 
you  all  afternoon  an'  night.  Will  some  sugar  square 
it?  Hey!  Get  out  of  my  pocket — it's  in  th'  shack," 
he  laughed.  And  there  was  a  note  in  his  laughter  that 
a  horse  of  Pepper's  intelligence  might  easily  under- 
stand. 

Mounting,  he  rode  across  the  clearing,  and  when 
he  reached  the  water  course  he  followed  it  to  his 

70 


A  Moonlight  Reconnaissance 


cabin.  Pepper  had  given  him  the  card  he  needed  now 
for,  in  the  saddle  and  careless  of  being  seen,  which 
was  his  best  play,  dangerous  as  it  might  be,  he  was 
riding  home  from  an  evening  spent  in  Hastings.  As 
to  answering  any  questions  about  the  dangling  rope, 
he  either  would  inform  the  curious  that  it  was  none 
of  their  business,  or  lie ;  and  whether  the  lie  would  be 
a  humorous  exaggeration  which  could  not  possibly  be 
believed,  or  adroit,  plausible,  and  convincing  would 
be  a  matter  of  mood. 

Whistling  softly  he  rode  across  the  little  plateau, 
stripped  the  saddle  from  Pepper,  who  waited  until  he 
returned  with  some  sugar,  and  lit  the  lantern.  Pep- 
per was  not  the  only  member  of  that  partnership 
whose  nose  was  useful;  and  the  faint  odor  of  a  vile, 
frontier  cigar  had  lingered  after  its  possessor  had 
departed. 

"Huh!  We  must  'a'  swapped  ends  tonight;  but 
I'll  bet  he's  doin*  more  wonderin'  than  me.  He  thinks 
he's  got  a  lead,  findin'  that  rope.  I  know  he  didn't 
see  me  put  it  there,  or  go  down  it;  an1  I'll  bet  he  don't 
know  that  I  came  back  to  it.  He  can  watch  an'  be 
cussed." 


CHAPTER  VII 

A  COUNCIL  OF  WAR 

CLEARING  away  the  breakfast  pans  the  follow- 
ing  morning,  Johnny  did  some  soliloquizing. 

"This  is  a  nice  little  shack,  but  I  ain't  stuck  on  it 
a  whole  lot.  Now  that  I've  built  it,  I've  got  to  use 
it  or  tip  off  my  hand;  an'  as  long  as  I  use  it  they  know 
where  to  find  me.  I've  got  to  come  back  to  it.  At  th' 
worst  I  can  hold  it  against  them  for  five  days;  an' 
then  th'  outfit'll  be  up  here  an'  drive  'em  off.  But  if 
it  comes  to  trouble  they  won't  let  me  get  to  it;  they'll 
pick  me  off  when  I'm  outside.  They're  gettin'  more 
suspicious  all  th'  time,  too,  judgin'  from  that  missin' 
rope  an'  th'  smell  of  that  cigar.  Nope;  I  don't  like 
this  shack  a  little  bit.  An'  some  night  when  I'm 
sneakin'  back  to  it,  suppose  one  of  'em  is  in  it,  waitin' 
for  me?  That  wouldn't  be  nice.  First  chance  I  get 
I'll  tote  my  tarpaulin  an'  some  supplies  out  of  here 
an'  cache  'em  some  place  not  too  far  away." 

Going  into  the  little  valley  he  was  greatly  surprised 
to  see  the  rope  hanging  as  he  had  left  it,  but  he  did 
not  give  it  a  second  glance,  and  acted  as  though  he 
was  ignorant  that  it  had  been  removed.  He  busied 
himself  carrying  firewood  from  the  pile  and  heaping 


A  Council  of  War 


it  up  in  the  center  of  a  cleared  space,  ready  to  be  lit 
later  on,  and  then  removed  the  two  saplings  which 
made  the  gate  to  his  rough  fence  and  swung  them  aside 
so  that  they  formed  a  V-shaped  approach  to  the  open- 
ing. Having  performed  these  mysterious  rites  he 
passed  the  cabin,  climbed  up  the  crevice,  recovered  the 
rope,  and  returned.  Carrying  it  into  the  house  he 
carelessly  closed  the  door  behind  him,  went  swiftly  to 
the  loose  log  in  the  rear  wall  and  removed  the  things 
he  had  hidden  behind  it,  rolling  them  up  in  the  tarpau- 
lin. Then  he  picked  ravelings  from  an  empty  salt 
sack,  tied  them  together  and  rolled  them  in  the  dirt 
on  the  floor  until  they  matched  it  in  color.  After  fill- 
ing the  water  pails  and  chopping  some  firewood  he 
took  the  gold  pan  and  his  rod  and  sought  the  creek, 
where  he  spent  the  rest  of  the  day  working  and 
fishing. 

Darkness  found  his  supper  dishes  washed  and  put 
away,  and,  kneeling  by  the  door,  he  stretched  a  string 
of  weak  ravelings  across  the  opening,  six  inches  above 
the  sill.  Cord  not  only  would  have  been  too  prominent, 
but  too  strong;  a  foot  would  break  the  ravelings  and 
never  feel  the  contact.  Whistling  to  Pepper,  he  took 
his  saddle  and  the  tarpaulin,  stepped  high  over  the 
door  sill  and  in  a  few  minutes  was  riding  down  the 
valley.  Just  before  he  came  to  the  Hastings  trail  he 
threw  the  tarpaulin  far  into  the  brush  without  slow- 

73 


The  Mem  from  Bar-20 


ing  the  horse,  and  then,  crossing  the  trail,  plunged 
into  the  sloping  draw  which  eventually  became  Little 
Canyon. 

Pepper  gingerly  picked  her  way  down  the  rough 
canyon  trail  without  any  directions  from  her  rider, 
crossed  the  level,  bowlder-strewn  flat  to  the  river,  and 
stopped  at  the  water's  edge. 

The  Deepwater  gurgled  and  swished,  cold,  swift, 
deep,  and  black,  and  Johnny  shivered  in  anticipation 
of  the  discomforts  due  to  be  his  for  the  next  few 
hours.  Unbuckling  his  belts,  he  slung  them  around 
his  neck,  and  in  his  hat  he  placed  the  contents  of  his 
pockets.  Giving  Pepper  a  friendly  and  encouraging 
slap,  he  urged  her  into  the  river,  a  task  which  she  did 
not  like;  but  she  overcame  her  prejudices  against  ice 
water  and  plunged  in,  swimming  with  powerful  strokes. 
Emerging  on  the  other  bank  they  cantered  briskly 
to  the  faintly  beaten  trail  where  Billy  Atwood  spent 
so  many  hours,  and  along  it  until  a  small,  isolated 
clump  of  trees  loomed  up.  There  was  a  stump  among 
them  and  on  this  Johnny  placed  a  stone.  Then  he 
waited,  shivering,  until  the  moon  came  up. 

A  black  blot  arose  hastily  from  the  earth  and  be- 
came a  cow.  Two  more  near  it  also  arose,  and  the 
three  lumbered  off  clumsily,  driven  in  the  right  di- 
rection by  a  horse  that  knew  her  work.  It  was  her 
firm  belief  that  cows  had  been  put  on  earth  to  be 

74 


A  Council  of  War 


bossed  by  her,  and  no  matter  how  quickly  they  swerved 
she  was  always  at  the  right  place  at  the  right  time 
and  kept  them  going  as  her  master  wished.  She  nei- 
ther hurried  them  too  fast  nor  pressed  them  too 
closely,  for  she  knew  that  when  a  range  cow  is  pushed 
too  hard  it  is  likely  to  go  "  on  the  prod  "  and  change 
instantly  from  an  easy-going,  docile  victim  to  a  stub- 
born, vicious  quadruped  with  no  sense  whatever  and 
a  strong  yearning  to  use  its  horns. 

It  did  not  take  long  to  get  six  cows  to  the  edge  of 
the  Deepwater;  but  it  took  two  hours  of  careful  but 
hard  riding,  perseverance  and  profuse  profanity  to  get 
them  into  the  water.  It  was  no  one-man  job,  and 
with  a  horse  that  had  less  training  than  Pepper  it 
might  have  proved  to  be  an  impossibility;  but  at  last 
one  cow  preferred  the  water  to  being  made  a  fool  of, 
and  when  it  went  in  the  others  reluctantly  followed. 
Scrambling  out  on  the  farther  bank  they  doubtless  were 
congratulating  themselves  upon  having  escaped  a  pest, 
when  the  pest  itself  emerged  behind  them  and  drove 
them  slowly  but  steadily  toward  Little  Canyon.  In 
it  they  went,  and  up  it;  and  as  they  paused  on  the 
main  trail  to  determine  which  way  to  go,  the  pest  ar- 
rived and  decided  the  question  for  them,  drove  them 
across  it  and  into  a  small  valley;  and  as  day  broke, 
six  unhurried,  placid  cows  wandered  slowly  into  the- 
crooked  canyon  and  through  the  opening  in  the  f«nce~ 

75 


The  Mem  from  Bar-20 


Having  changed  the  brands  from  the  original  CL 
to  an  equally  sprawling  GB,  he  returned  to  the  cabin, 
unsaddled,  and  entered,  stepping  high  over  the  sill. 
No  one  was  there  and  nothing  had  been  disturbed, 
but  when  he  looked  for  the  thread  he  found  it  snapped 
and  lying  on  the  floor. 

Starting  a  brisk  fire  he  hung  his  wet  clothes  before 
it  on  crude  tripods  made  of  sticks,  hastily  ate  a  sub- 
stantial breakfast,  fastened  the  shutter  of  the  window, 
hung  the  gold  pan  over  the  closed  door  to  serve  as  an 
alarm  if  anyone  should  enter,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
was  asleep. 

Across  the  creek,  high  up  on  the  great  ridge,  a 
man  lay  behind  a  bowlder,  a  rifle  in  his  hands,  and  he 
kept  close  watch  on  the  cabin.  Waiting  a  reasonable 
length  of  time,  he  finally  arose,  waved  his  hand  and 
settled  down  again,  the  rifle  covering  the  cabin  door. 
In  the  pasture  another  man  emerged  from  a  thicket 
and  hurried  toward  the  canyon,  swearing  softly  when 
he  saw  the  changed  brands.  It  took  no  second  sight 
to  tell  him  what  the  original  brand  had  been.  Emerg- 
ing from  the  canyon  he  paused,  glanced  up  at  his 
friend,  who  made  a  significant  sign,  debated  some- 
thing in  his  mind,  and  then,  pulling  out  a  notebook, 
scrawled  something  in  it  and  tore  out  the  page. 
Creeping  softly  he  reached  the  cabin  door,  stuck  the 
page  on  it  and  then  hurried  away  to  join  his  friend 


A  Council  of  War 


They  climbed  the  ridge  and  hastened  northward,  con- 
versing with  animation. 

When  they  reached  the  canyon  leading  to  their 
ranch  a  tall,  rangy  man  advanced  to  meet  them. 
"Well,"  he  said,  smiling:  "what  did  you  find  out 
about  the  rope?  An'  what  kept  you  so  long?" 

"We  found  out  a-plenty,"  growled  Ackerman  an- 
grily. "That  feller  ain't  no  prospector.  I've  said 
so  all  along.  He  don't  know  enough  about  prospectin* 
to  earn  a  livin'  on  th'  top  of  a  pile  of  gold! " 

His  companion  nodded  quickly.  "Jim's  right;  he's 
a  rustler.  Doin'  it  single-handed,  on  a  small  scale." 

"/  ain't  nowise  shore  that  rustlin'  is  his  game,  nei- 
ther," said  Ackerman.  "  If  he  is  he's  a  new  hand  at 
it.  I  could  rebrand  them  cows  in  just  about  half  th' 
time  it  took  him,  an'  do  a  better  job.  He's  dangerous ; 
an'  he  should  'a'  been  shot  long  before  this.  I  can 
get  him  today,"  he  urged. 

"I  don't  doubt  that;  but  I  wouldn't  do  it,"  smiled 
Quigley.  "An'  I  hope  yo're  shore  he  ain't  Logan." 

Jim  swore.  "Yes;  but  if  he  keeps  on  rustlin'  he'll 
have  Logan  after  him.  An'  that'll  mean  that  we'll 
have  to  look  sharp,  an'  mebby  fight.  You  let  me  get 
him,  Tom." 

Quigley  shook  his  head.  "'Tain't  necessary.  All 
we  got  to  do  is  let  him  know  he  ain't  wanted.  Steal 
his  cows,  bum  his  cabin;  an'  shoot  near  him  a  couple 

77 


The  Mem  from  Bar-20 


of  times,  until  he  realizes  how  easy  we  can  shoot 
through  him.  But  I  ain't  shore  I  want  him  drove 
away." 

"  Huh ! "  ejaculated  Ackerman. 

"Huh!"  repeated  Fleming  foolishly. 

"Well,"  drawled  Quigley,  ufor  one  thing  Logan's 
purty  shore  to  begin  missin'  cows  before  long.  What 
puzzles  me  is  that  he  ain't  missed  'em  long  ago.  Then 
he'll  begin  watchin'  his  range  nights." 

"  But  he  won't  watch  up  there,"  interrupted  Flem- 
ing. "  He  don't  know  about  that  ford." 

"There's  only  two  breaks  in  th'  Barrier,"  contin- 
ued Quigley,  ignoring  the  interruption,  "that  are  near 
Nelson's  valley;  an'  they're  th'  first  places  Logan'll 
watch.  They're  Big  an'  Little  Canyons.  Some  fine 
night  Nelson  will  get  caught  or  followed.  Bein'  a 
stranger,  an'  once  workin'  for  th'  CL,  Logan  will  think 
he's  got  th'  rustlers.  He'll  find  signs  that'll  make  him 
look  in  Nelson's  pasture — if  they  ain't  there  natur- 
ally we'll  put  'em  there.  They'll  find  his  cabin  an' 
his  rebranded  herd.  When  they  go  back  again  they'll 
reckon  that  th'  rustlin'  is  all  over;  an'  we'll  still  be  in 
th'  game,  lettin'  up  a  little  for  a  while,  an'  be  better 
off  than  ever.  Savvy  my  drift?" 

Ackerman  shook  his  head  savagely.  "With  them 
.six  cows,  an'  Logan  missin'  hundreds?"  he  sarcasti- 
cally demanded. 

78 


A  Council  of  War 


Quigley  smiled  patronizingly.  "  Findin'  only  a  few 
won't  mean  nothin',  except  that  he's  driven  off  th'  rest 
every  time  he  has  got  a  few  together,  an*  sold  'em. 
Now  if  you  was  to  take  that  notebook  that's  stickto' 
out  of  yore  pocket,  an'  write  in  it  some  words  an' 
figgers  showin'  that  he's  sold  so  many  cows,  an'  what 
he  got  for  'em  each  time,  it  might  help.  We'll  know 
when  Logan's  due,  an'  we  can  drop  that  book  where 
he'll  find  it.  You  never  want  to  kill  anythin'  till  yo're 
shore  it  ain't  goin'  to  be  useful.  There's  one  thing 
I'm  set  on:  there  ain't  going  to  be  no  unnecessary 
killin'." 

Ackerman  laughed  grimly.  "Well,  anyhow;  I've 
started  things.  I  left  a  note  on  his  door  tellin'  him 
what  to  do." 

"What  did  you  write?"  demanded  Quigley. 

Ackerman  told  him  defiantly.  "An'  what's  more," 
he  added,  "I'm  goin'  to  do  some  pot-shootin'  before 
long." 

"Well,"  replied  Quigley,  "I'd  rather  drive  him 
out,  an'  then  watch  him  for  a  while.  I  ain't  shore  he 
can't  be  scared.  Do  you  think  he  suspects  he's  bein* 
watched?" 

"I  don't  think  so,"  answered  Fleming. 

"I  know  he  does!"  snapped  Ackerman.  "Why 
does  he  paw  around  that  gravel  bed  an'  pertend  that 
he's  found  gold  in  it?  There  ain't  no  gold  there !  " 


The  Mem  from  Bar-20 


Quigley  laughed.  "  He  found  gold,  all  right.  Char- 
ley James  saw  it :  an*  he  got  it  right  there.  He  wanted 
Charley  to  take  it  in  pay.  I  don't  doubt  that  you 
know  somethin'  about  prospectin'  but  'gold  is  where 
it's  found.'" 

Ackerman  thrust  his  head  forward.  "  Gold  in  that 
gravel!  H— 1!" 

"Charley  saw  it,"  grunted  Quigley. 

"Charley  be  d — dl"  snorted  Ackerman.  He 
looked  closely  at  Quigley  and  suddenly  demanded: 
"What  makes  you  so  set  ag'in  us  shootin'  him?" 

Quigley  regarded  him  evenly.  "There  was  a  lot 
of  talk,  when  Porter  was  found  dead.  I  told  you  all 
at  th'  time.  Four  men  have  got  curious,  come  up  in 
these  hills  an'  never  went  out  again.  Twin  Buttes  has 
a  bad  name;  an'  th'  next  dead  man  that's  blamed  on 
us  is  goin*  to  make  a  lot  more  talk  an'  may  stir  up 
trouble. 

"Now  then:  Pop  knows  that  Nelson's  up  here,  an' 
that  means  that  everybody  knows  it.  He  saw  me  reach 
for  my  gun,  an'  heard  me  tell  him  to  keep  out  of  here. 
An'  let  me  tell  you  Pop  knows  more  about  us  than 
he  lets  on;  an*  he's  as  venomous  as  a  snake  when 
he  gets  riled.  An'  he  ain't  th'  only  one  that  knows 
things. 

"  Now  we'll  add  it  up :  If  we  can  scare  Nelson  away, 
or  discourage  him,  he'll  quit  of  his  own  accord;  an* 

80 


A  Council  of  War 


he  won't  talk  because  he  knows  that  somebody  knows 
he's  been  rustlin'."  He  turned  on  his  heel.  "Am  I 
plain  enough?" 

"Wait  a  minute,"  called  Ackerman.  "That  feller 
has  got  me  worried.  Mebby  it  would  be  reckless  to 
let  him  disappear  up  here;  but  suppose  I  go  on  a  spree 
in  town  when  he's  there?  It's  easy  to  start  a  fight 
with  a  gun-man,  because  he's  got  to  toe  th'  mark.  I 
can  do  th'  job  open  an'  above  board,  an'  make  it  nat- 
ural; an'  that  will  keep  us  clear." 

"Jim,"  smiled  Quigley,  "I  don't  want  to  lose  you; 
an'  if  you  pick  a  square  fight  with  that  man,  th'  eve? 
break  that  you  demand  in  yore  personal  quarrels,  wfc 
will  lose  you.  I  looked  down  his  gun,  an'  I  tell  you 
that  I  didn't  *ee  him  move.  He's  a  gun  man!  " 

Ackerman  laughed.  "We  won't  say  anythin'  about 
that.  But  if  he  did  get  th'  worst  of  it  in  an  even  break 
an'  a  personal  quarrel,  would  it  hurt  us  up  here? 
That's  all  I  want  to  know." 

Quigley  thought  deeply  and  made  a  slow  and  care- 
ful reply.  "  If  it  wasn't  bungled  I  don't  see  how  it 
could.  You'd  have  to  rile  him  subtle,  make  him  de- 
clare war  an'  be  th'  injured  party  yoreself ;  an'  you'd 
want  witnesses.  But  don't  you  do  it,  Jim ;  not  nohow. 
I  got  a  feelin'  that  he's  th'  best  man  with  a  Colt  in 
this  section.  Yo're  a  wizard  with  a  six-gun;  but  you 
ain't  good  enough  for  him.  When  he's  around  yo're 

81 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


in  th'  little  boy's  class;  an'  I  ain't  meanin'  no  offense  to 
you,  neither." 

Ackerman,  hands  on  hips,  stared  at  Quigley's  back 
as  he  walked  away.  "  Th'  h — 1  you  say !  "  he  snorted 
wrathfully.  "  '  Little  boy's  class,'  huh?  "  He  wheeled 
and  turned  a  scowling  face  to  his  friend  Fleming. 
"Did  you  hear  that?  I  calls  that  rubbin'  it  in!  I 
got  a  notion  to  take  that  feller's  two  guns  away  fronf 
him  an'  make  Tom  eat  'em!  D — d  if  I  don't,  too; 
You  ride  to  town  with  me  an'  I'll  show  you  somethirf 
you  won't  never  forget ! " 

It  may  not  be  out  of  place  here  to  say  that  the  time 
soon  came  when  he  did  show  Fleming  something;  and 
that  Fleming  never  did  forget  it. 

Mr.  Quigley  smiled  grimly  as  he  entered  the  house, 
for  it  was  his  opinion  that  Mr.  Ackerman  had  no 
peer  in  his  use  and  abuse  of  Mr.  Colt's  most  famous 
invention.  He  hardly  could  ask  Mr.  Ackerman  to 
sally  forth  and  engage  in  a  personal  duel  with  a  com- 
mon enemy,  for  it  would  smack  too  much  of  asking 
a  friend  to  do  his  fighting  for  him.  He  believed  that 
leadership  is  best  based  when  it  rests  upon  the  respect 
of  those  led.  He  had  no  doubt  about  the  outcome 
of  such  a  duel,  for  he  implicitly  believed  that  the  stran- 
ger, despite  his  vaunting  two  guns,  had  as  much 
chance  against  Mr.  Ackerman's  sleight-of-hand  as  an 
enraged  rattler  had  against  a  cool  and  businesslike 

82 


A  Council  of  War 


king  snake.  The  appropriateness  of  the  simile  made 
him  smile,  because  the  rattler  is  heavily  armed  and 
calls  attention  to  the  fact,  while  the  king  snake  is 
modest,  unassuming,  and  sounds  no  war-cry.  Two 
guns  meant  nothing  to  Mr.  Quigley,  because  he  knew 
that  one  was  entirely  sufficient  in  the  hand  of  the 
right  man. 

He  had  carefully  pointed  out  the  way  for  Mr.  Acker- 
man  to  proceed  in  such  a  situation,  and  then  warned 
him  in  an  irritating  way  not  to  go  ahead.  So  now  he 
sighed  with  relief  at  a  problem  solved,  for  his  knowl- 
edge of  Mr.  Ackerman's  character  was  based  upon 
accurate  observations  extending  over  a  long  period 
of  time. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

FLEMING  IS  SHOWN 

JOHNNY  got  up  at  noon,  and  when  he  saw  the 
sign  on  his  door  its  single  word  "  Vamose "  told 
him  that  the  valley  and  the  cabin  were  of  no  further 
use  to  him;  that  the  time  for  subterfuge  and  acting 
a  part  was  past.  That  the  rustlers  were  not  certain 
of  his  intentions  was  plain,  for  otherwise  there  would 
have  been  a  bullet  instead  of  a  warning;  and  he  was 
mildly  surprised  that  they  had  not  ambushed  him  to 
be  on  the  safe  side. 

It  now  remained  for  him  to  open  the  war,  and 
warn  them  further;  or  to  pretend  to  obey  the  man- 
date and  seek  new  fields  of  observation.  Pride  and 
anger  urged  the  former;  common  sense  and  crafti- 
ness, the  latter;  and  since  he  had  not  accomplished  his 
task  he  decided  to  swallow  his  anger  and  move.  Had 
he  been  only  what  he  pretended  to  be,  Nelson's  creek 
would  have  seen  some  stirring  times.  As  a  sop  to  his 
pride  he  printed  a  notice  on  a  piece  of  Charley's  wrap- 
ping paper  and  fastened  it  on  the  door.  Its  three, 
short  words  made  a  concise,  blunt  direction  as  to  a 
certain  journey,  popularly  supposed  to  be  the  more 
heavily  traveled  trail  through  the  spirit  world.  Pack- 


Fleming  is  Shown 


ing  part  of  his  belongings  on  Pepper,  he  found  room 
to  sit  in  the  saddle,  and  started  off  for  an  afternoon 
in  Hastings,  after  which  he  would  return  to  the  cabin 
to  spend  the  night  and  to  get  the  rest  of  his  effects. 

When  he  rode  into  town  he  laughed  outright  at  the 
sign  on  Pop's  door,  and  he  laughed  harder  when  he 
saw  another  on  Charley's  door;  and  leaving  his  things 
behind  Pop's  saloon,  he  pushed  on  to  Devil's  Gap.  At 
the  ford  he  met  the  two  happy  anglers  returning  and 
they  paused  in  mid-stream  to  hold  up  their  catch. 

"You  come  back  with  us,"  grinned  Pop.  "We'll 
pool  th'  fish  an*  have  a  three-corner  meal.  Where 
was  you  goin'?" 

"To  find  you,"  chuckled  Johnny.  "I'm  surprised 
at  th'  way  you  both  neglects  business." 

"  Comin'  from  you  that  makes  me  laugh,"  snorted 
Pop. 

Charley  grinned.  "  Did  you  see  that  whoppin'  big 
feller  I  got?  Bet  it'll  go  three  pounds." 

"  Lucky  if  it's  half  that,"  grunted  Pop.  "  If  I'd  'a' 
got  that  one  /  had  hold  of,  we'd  V  had  a  three- 
pounder,  or  mebby  a  four-pounder." 

Charley  snorted.  "Who  ever  heard  of  a  four- 
pound  brook  trout?  Been  a  brown,  now,  it  might  'a* 
been  that  big." 

"Why,  I  caught  'em  up  to  eight  pounds,  back  East, 
when  I  was  a  kid!"  retorted  Pop. 

85 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


"  Yo're  a  squaw's  dog  liar ! "  snapped  Charley. 
" Eight-pound  brook  trout!  You  must  'a*  snagged  a 
turtle,  or  an  old  boot  full  of  mud!" 

"  Bet  you  five  dollars !  "  retorted  Pop,  bristling. 

"How  you  goin'  to  prove  it?"  jeered  Charley. 
"Call  th'  dead  back  to  life  to  lie  for  you?" 

"Reckon  I  can't  prove  it,"  regretted  Pop.  "But 
when  a  man  hangs  around  with  a  liar  he  shore  gets 
th'  name,  too." 

"Nobody  never  called  me  a  liar  an*  got  off  with- 
out a  hidin' ! "  snapped  Charley.  "  I  may  be  sixty 
years  old,  but  I  can  lick  you  an'  yore  whole  fambly  if 
you  gets  too  smart !  " 

Pop  drew  rein,  his  chin  whiskers  bobbing  up  and 
down.  "I'm  older'n  that  myself;  but  I  don't  need  no 
relations  to  help  me  lick  you!  Get  off  that  hoss,  if 
you  dares ! " 

"  Here !  Here !  "  interposed  Johnny.  "  What's  th* 
use  of  you  two  old  friends  mussin'  each  other  up? 
Come  on!  I'm  in  a  hurry!  I'm  hungry!" 

"I  won't  go  a  step  till  he  says  I  ain't  no  liar!" 
snapped  Charley. 

"  I  won't  go  till  he  says  I  caught  a  eight-pound  brook 
trout!" 

"  Mebby  he  did — how  do  7  know  what  he  did  when 
he  was  a  boy?"  growled  Charley,  full  of  fight.  uBut 
I  ain't  no  liar,  an'  that's  ilat!" 

86 


Fleming  is  Shown 


"Who  said  you  was,  you  old  fool?"  asked  Pop 
heatedly. 

"You  did!" 

"I  didn't!" 

"You  did!" 

"Yo're  a  liar!" 

"Yo're  another!" 

"  Get  off  that  hoss !  " 

"  You  ain't  off  yore  own  yet !  " 

Johnny  was  holding  his  sides  and  Pop  wheeled  on 
him  savagely.  "What  th'  h — 1  you  laughin'  at?" 

"That's  what  /  want  to  know!"  blazed  Charley. 

"Come  on,  Charley!"  shouted  Pop.  "We'll  eat 
them  fish  ourselves.  It's  a  fine  how-dy-do  when  age 
ain't  respected  no  more.  An'  th'  next  time  you  goes 
around  callin'  folks  liars,"  he  said,  shaking  a  trembling 
fist  under  Johnny's  nose,  "you  needn't  foller  us  to  do 
it  on!" 

Down  the  trail  they  rode,  angrily  discussing 
Johnny,  the  times,  and  the  manners  of  the  younger 
generation. 

When  Johnny  arrived  at  the  saloon  and  tried  the 
door  he  found  it  locked.  He  could  hear  footsteps 
inside  and  he  stepped  back,  chuckling,  to  wait  until 
Pop  had  forgiven  him;  but  after  a  few  minutes  he 
gave  it  up  and  went  around  to  try  the  window  of  a 
side  room. 

8? 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


"What  you  think  yo're  doin'?"  inquired  a  calm 
voice  behind  him. 

He  wheeled  and  saw  a  man  regarding  him  with 
level  gaze,  and  across  the  street  was  a  second,  who 
sat  on  one  horse  and  held  fast  to  another. 

"Tryin'  to  get  in  for  a  treat/*  grinned  Johnny,  full 
of  laughter.  "Had  a  spat  with  Pop  an*  Charley,  an* 
cussed  if  they  ain't  locked  me  out!" 

The  stranger  showed  no  answering  smile.  "That 
so?"  he  sneered.  "Reckon  you  better  come  along 
with  me,  'round  front,  till  I  hears  what  Hayes  has  to 
say  about  it.  /  don't  believe  he's  home." 

Johnny's  expression  changed  from  a  careless  grin 
to  an  ominous  frown.  "If  you  do  any  walkin*  you'll 
do  it  alone." 

Several  people  had  been  drawn  to  the  scene  and 
took  in  the  proceedings  with  eager  eyes  and  ears,  but 
were  careful  to  keep  to  one  side.  Jim  Ackerman  had 
a  reputation  which  made  such  a  location  very  much  a 
part  of  discretion;  and  the  two-gun  man  had  been  well 
discussed  by  Pop. 

"I  finds  you  tryin'  a  man's  window,"  said  Acker- 
man. "  So  I  stopped  to  ask  about  it.  As  long  as  I've 
took  this  much  trouble  I'll  go  through  with  it.  You 
comin'  peaceful,  or  must  I  drag  you  around?" 

"Mebby  that's  a  job  you'd  like  to  tackle?"  replied 
Johnny. 

88 


Fleming  is  Shown 


"I'm  aimin'  to  be  peaceful,"  rejoined  Ackerman, 
his  voice  as  smooth  as  oil;  ubut  I  allus  aim  to  do  what 
I  say.  You  comin'  with  me?" 

"  If  yo're  aimin'  to  be  peaceful,  yo're  plumb  cross- 
eyed," retorted  Johnny,  slouching  away  from  the  wall. 

Quick  steps  sounded  within  the  building  and  a  fright- 
ened, high-pitched  voice  could  be  heard.  "  Couple  of 
bobcats  lookin'  for  holts,"  it  said.  "  That  feller  Nel- 
son is  pickin'  on  somebody  else." 

The  window  raised  and  Pop  stuck  his  angry  face  out 
to  see  what  was  going  on;  and  his  wrinkled  coun- 
tenance paled  suddenly  when  he  saw  Ackerman,  and 
the  look  in  his  eyes.  He  had  a  trout  in  one  hand  and 
a  bloody  knife  in  the  other,  and  both  fell  to  the  ground 

"  Jumpin'  mavericks !  "  he  whispered.  "  It's  Acker- 
man! What's  wrong,  Jim?"  he  quavered. 

"  You  saved  us  a  walk,"  replied  Ackerman,  not  tak- 
ing his  eyes  from  the  flushed  face  of  his  enemy.  "I 
caught  him  tryin'  to  open  that  window." 

Charley  thrust  his  head  out  as  Pop  replied.  "We 
was  playin'  a  joke  on  him.  It's  all  right,  Jim.  Much 
obliged  for  yore  unusual  interest." 

"Well,  I'm  glad  of  that,"  smiled  Ackerman;  "but 
he  looked  suspicious  an'  I  reckoned  I  ought  to  drag 
him  around  an'  show  you  what  I  found  tryin'  to  bust 
in.  But  if  you  say  it's  all  right,  why  I  reckon  it  is/" 

"I  reckon  it  ain't !':  snapped  Johnny,  enraged  at 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


his  humiliating  position  and  at  the  way  Ackerman  ac- 
cented his  words.  "  An*  if  that  itchin'  m^^r-finger 
of  yourn  wants  to  get  busy  it  has  my  permission,"  he 
mimicked.  "Pop,"  he  said,  sharply,  "who  is  this 
buzzard?" 

"  No  need  to  get  riled  over  a  thing  like  that,"  fal- 
tered Pop. 

"  Shut  yore  trap ! "  snapped  Charley,  battle  in  his 
eyes.  "That's  Ackerman,  relative  of  Quigley's;  th' 
best  six-gun  man  in  th'  country." 

"Thanks,"  growled  Johnny,  staring  through  nar- 
rowed lids  at  Ackerman,  who  stood  alert,  his  lips 
twitching  with  contempt.  "When  a  dog  pesters  me  I 
kick  him;  if  he  snaps  at  me  I  shoot  him.  I'm  goin1 
to  kick  you  to  yore  cayuse  an*  yore  friend."  He  had 
been  sliding  forward  while  he  spoke  and  now  they 
stood  face  to  face,  an  arm's  length  apart. 

Ackerman  suddenly  made  two  lightning-like  move- 
ments. His  left  hand  leaped  out  to  block  his  enemy's 
right  in  its  draw,  while  his  own  right  flashed  down 
to  his  gun.  As  his  fingers  closed  on  the  butt,  Johnny's 
heavy  Colt  by  some  miracle  of  speed  jabbed  savagely 
into  the  pit  of  the  scheming  man's  stomach  with  plenty 
of  strength  behind  it,  and  Ackerman  doubled  up  like 
a  jackknife,  his  breath  jolted  out  of  him  with  a  loud 
grunt.  Johnny's  right  hand  smacked  sharply  on  his 
enemy's  cheek,  left  vivid  finger  marks,  which  flashed 

90 


Fleming  is  Shown 


white  and  then  crimson,  and  continued  on  down;  and 
when  it  stopped  a  plain,  Frontier  Colt  peeked  coyly 
from  his  hip  at  the  surprised  and  chagrined  gentle- 
man across  the  street,  who  had  been  instructed  to  re- 
main a  noncombatant;  and  had  no  intention,  what- 
soever, of  disobeying  Ackerman's  emphatic  order.  To 
reveal  his  status  he  quickly  raised  his  hands  and 
clasped  them  on  the  top  of  his  hat,  which  is  a  more 
comfortable  position  than  holding  them  stiffly  aloft. 

Ackerman  was  dazed  and  sick,  for  the  solar  plexus 
is  a  peculiarly  sensitive  spot,  and  his  hands  instinctively 
had  forsaken  offense  and  spasmodically  leaped  to  the 
agonized  nerve  center. 

"Turn  around!"  snapped  Johnny  viciously. 
"Pronto!  There's  dust  on  th'  seat  of  yore  pants." 

Ackerman  groaned  and  obeyed,  and  the  hurtling 
impact  of  a  boot  drove  him  to  his  hands  and  knees. 

"  Get  agoin' !  "  ordered  Johnny,  aflame  with  anger, 
slipping  the  right  hand  gun  back  into  its  holster  and 
motioning  with  the  other. 

Ackerman,  his  eyes  blazing,  started  on  his  humble 
journey,  assisted  frequently  by  the  boot;  and  having 
crossed  the  street,  he  paused. 

"  Get  up  on  that  cayuse ! "  crisply  ordered  Johnny, 
making  motions  which  increased  the  mounted  man's 
uneasiness. 

The  further  Ackerman  had  crawled  the  angrier  he 

91 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


had  become,  and  tears  of  rage  streaked  the  dust  on 
his  face.  At  Johnny's  last  command  and  the  kick 
which  accompanied  it,  his  good  sense  and  all  thought 
of  safety  left  him.  He  arose  with  a  spring,  a  berserk- 
er, trembling  with  rage,  and  reached  for  his  gun  with 
convulsive  speed  while  looking  into  his  enemy's  weapon 
with  unseeing  eyes.  There  was  a  flash,  a  roar,  and 
a  cloud  of  smoke  at  Johnny's  hip,  and  a  glittering  six- 
shooter  sprang  into  the  air,  spinning  rapidly.  Acker- 
man  did  not  feel  the  shock  which  numbed  his  hand, 
but  leaped  forward  straight  at  his  enemy's  throat. 
Johnny  swerved  quickly  and  his  right  hand  swung  up 
in  a  short,  vicious  arc.  Ackerman,  too  crazed  to  avoid 
it,  took  the  blow  on  the  point  of  his  jaw  and  dropped 
like  a  stone. 

Johnny  stepped  back  and  looked  evilly  at  the  man 
on  the  horse. 

"  Gimme  yore  gun,  butt  first.    Thanks.     You  work 
for  Quigley?" 

The  other  nodded  slowly. 

"Friend  of  this  hombre?" 

"Yes;  sort  of." 

"Then  why  didn't  you  cut  in?'1 

"Why,  I  —  I  —  "  the  other  hesitated,  and  stopped. 

"Spit  it!  " 

"Well,  I  wasn't  supposed  to,"  coldly  replied  the 
horseman. 

92 


Fleming  is  Shown 


"Then  it  was  talked  over?" 

"Not  particular.  Jim  does  his  own  fightin',  his- 
self." 

I  "Good  thing  for  Jim,  an*  you,  too,"  retorted 
Johnny.  "When  it's  crowded  I  can't  allus  be  polite. 
Who  put  that  sign  on  my  door  ?  " 

"What  sign?" 

"/'m  askin'  you  questions!"  snapped  Johnny,  his 
eyes  blazing  anew. 

"Dunno  nothin'  about  it,"  answered  the  other. 

"  I  reckon  yo're  a  practiced  liar,"  retorted  Johnny. 
"  But  it  don't  make  no  difference.  I'm  leavin'  th'  val- 
ley, for  I  can't  fight  pot-shooters  an'  do  any  work  at 
th'  same  time.  Quigley  don't  own  this  country,  an' 
you  tell  him  that  while  he's  boss  of  that  little  valley, 
7'm  boss  in  this  town.  If  him  or  any  of  his  men  come 
to  town  while  I'm  here  I'll  shoot  'em  down  like  I  would 
a  snake.  That  means  one  at  a  time  or  all  together;  an' 
if  he  don't  believe  me,  you  tell  him  I'll  be  here  all  day 
tomorrow.  There  ain't  no  bushes  in  town,  an'  none 
of  yore  gang  can  fight  without  'em.  Now  you  say  to 
him  that  I  don't  want  no  remarks  made  about  what 
I  was  doin'  up  there — you  savvy  that?  If  I  hear  of 
any  I'll  slip  up  there  some  night  an'  blow  him  all  over 
his  shirt.  An'  d — n  you,  I  mean  it !  " 

Ackerman  stirred  and  sat  up,  looking  around  in  a 
dazed  way.  When  his  eyes  fell  on  Johnny  they  lost 

93 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


their  puzzled  look  and  blazed  again  with  rage.  He 
reached  swiftly  to  his  holster,  found  it  empty,  and 
shrugged  his  shoulders. 

Johnny  regarded  him  coldly.  "  Get  on  that  cayuse, 
an*  start  goin'.  This  town  ain't  big  enough  for  both 
of  us  at  once." 

Ackerman  silently  obeyed,  but  his  face  was  dis- 
torted with  passion.  When  he  had  clawed  himself 
into  the  saddle  he  looked  down  on  the  grim  master  of 
the  situation. 

" Words  are  foolish,"  he  whispered.  "We'll  meet 
again! " 

Johnny  nodded.  "I  reckon  so.  Everybody  plays 
their  cards  accordin*  to  their  own  judgment.  Just 
now  I  got  a  high  straight  flush,  so  you  hit  th'  trail, 
pronto!" 

He  stepped  aside  to  get  out  of  the  dust-cloud  which 
suddenly  swirled  around  him,  and  watched  it  roll  north- 
ward until  the  dim  figures  in  it  were  lost  to  sight  around 
a  bend.  The  slouch  went  out  of  his  bearing  as  he 
straightened  up  and  slid  his  gun  into  its  holster,  and 
walking  over  to  Ackerman's  glittering  six-shooter  he 
picked  it  up  and  sneered  at  it. 

"I  ain't  surprised,"  he  laughed,  eying  the  ivory 
handle  and  the  ornate  engraving.  Wheeling  abruptly 
he  glanced  carelessly  at  the  grinning  audience  and 
strode  to  the  door  of  Pop's  saloon. 

94 


Fleming  is  Shown 


"I'll  be  d — d!"  sputtered  Pop,  his  eyes  still  bulg- 
ing. 

"Reckon  you  will,"  laughed  Johnny,  "unless  you 
mends  yore  sinful  ways." 

"  What  you  been  doin'  to  make  Jim  Ackerman  pick 
a  fight  with  you?"  demanded  Pop,  recovering  his 
faculties  and  his  curiosity  at  the  same  instant. 

"Here's  his  gun;  an'  here's  his  friend's,"  said 
Johnny.  "  Keep  'em  for  'em.  They  plumb  went  off 
without  'em." 

Pop  openly  admired  Ackerman's  weapon.  "Bet 
that  cost  a  heap,"  he  remarked.  "Ain't  she  a 
beauty?  "  He  rubbed  energetically  at  a  leaden  splotch 
on  the  cylinder. 

"It  was  in  good  company,"  replied  Johnny. 

"  You  got  to  look  out  for  him,"  Pop  warned.  "  He's 
a  bad  Injun."  Then  he  grinned  suddenly.  "  But  he 
come  d — d  near  bein'  a  good  Injun!" 

"Hey!"  called  a  peeved  voice  from  within.  "If 
you  reckon  I'm  goin'  to  clean  all  these  fish  myself,  you 
better  copper  yore  bets."  Footsteps  approached  the 
door  and  Charley  roughly  elbowed  Pop  aside.  "  That 
means  you,  too,  Nelson,"  he  growled.  "What  you 
mean,  hangin*  back  at  th'  ford?  Figger  we'd  have 
'em  all  cleaned  before  you  arrove?  Well,  if  you  aim 
to  eat  any  of  'em,  you  grab  holt  of  a  knife  an'  get 
busy!"  He  shuffled  back  into  the  room  again,  mut- 

95 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


tering:  "  Gripes !  I'm  fish  from  my  head  to  my  heels, 
an1  bloody  as  a  massacre.  An'  what's  more,  I  ain't 
goin'  to  clean  another  d — d  one,  not  nohow  I" 


CHAPTER  IX 

A  SKIRMISH  IN  THE  NIGHT 

SAYING  good  night  to  his  two  friends,  Johnny 
rode  north  along  the  trail,  but  he  had  not  ridden 
more  than  half  way  to  the  mouth  of  his  valley  when 
he  swung  Pepper  into  an  arroyo  which  he  knew  led 
to  the  south  side  of  the  butte  behind  his  cabin.  While 
heavily  fringed  with  brush  and  trees  it  was  open 
enough  along  the  dry  bed  of  the  stream  to  permit  him 
to  push  on  at  fair  speed,  and  while  there  were  rocks 
and  bowlders  in  plenty,  Pepper  easily  avoided  them 
in  the  soft  moonlight  and  went  on  with  confidence.  At 
last,  reaching  a  fork,  he  chose  the  right-hand  lead 
and  pushed  on  more  slowly  for  a  few  minutes,  and 
then,  picketing  the  horse,  he  slipped  out  of  his  chaps 
and  boots  and  put  on  the  pair  of  moccasins  which  had 
been  hidden  under  the  saddle  flaps.  Taking  the  rifle 
from  the  long  scabbard,  he  slung  it  across  his  back  and 
slipped  noiselessly  up  the  ravine. 

Half  an  hour  later  he  stopped  suddenly  and  sniffed, 
and  then  glanced  quickly  around  him.  The  smoke  was 
very  faint,  but  it  was  something  to  think  about  be- 
cause it  meant  either  men  close  at  hand  or  a  forest 
fire.  Going  on  again,  even  more  slowly,  he  began 

97 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


to  take  advantage  of  cover,  and  as  he  proceeded  the 
smoke  became  steadily  stronger.  A  sudden  suspicion 
made  him  set  his  jaws,  for  he  was  going  straight  up 
wind  and  toward  his  cabin.  Stopping  a  moment  to  con* 
sider,  he  turned  sharply  to  his  left  and  went  on  again, 
a  Colt  swinging  loosely  in  his  left  hand.  Anything 
close  enough  to  be  seen  plainly  would  be  near  enough 
for  the  Colt,  and  in  such  poor  light  the  six-shooter 
was  more  accurate  in  his  hands  than  a  rifle. 

The  only  things  about  him  which  he  could  hear 
were  the  holsters,  which  rubbed  very  softly  as  he 
walked,  but  the  sound  would  not  carry  for  any  dis- 
tance. Having  gone  around  the  little  valley  near  his 
cabin,  he  crawled  along  below  the  ragged  skyline  of 
the  ridge  and  reached  a  point  close  to  the  cabin,  when 
he  suddenly  dropped  to  his  stomach  and  flattened  him* 
self  to  the  earth. 

Some  restless,  gambling  soul  could  not  do  with- 
out a  cigarette  and  he  had  detected  its  faint  odor  in 
time.  Turning  his  head  slowly,  he  sniffed  deeply  and 
swore  under  his  breath,  for  he  was  going  partly  with 
the  wind,  which  meant  that  the  smoker  must  be  some- 
where behind  him.  Then  a  gentle  breeze,  creeping 
along  the  ridge  in  a  back-draft,  brought  to  him  the 
strong  and  pungent  odor  of  the  fire;  and  he  nodded  in 
quick  understanding. 

The  back-draft  told  him  that  the  smoker  was  in 


A  Skirmish  in  the  Night 


front  of  him  and  cleared  up  one  danger;  but  it  also 
had  blotted  out  the  odor  of  the  cigarette,  and  as  he 
started  forward  again  he  put  his  faith  in  his  eyes  and 
ears.  Slowly  he  moved  along,  a  few  feet  at  a  time, 
and  then  he  caught  the  brief  and  fragrant  odor  again. 
Worming  around  a  great,  up-thrust  slab  of  lava  he 
stopped  suddenly  and  held  his  breath.  A  speck  of  fire, 
faint  through  the  clinging  ashes,  moved  in  a  swift, 
short  arc,  became  brighter  and  moved  back  again,  a 
gleaming  dot  of  red.  He  could  see  the  hand  and  part 
of  the  arm  of  the  man  who  had  just  knocked  the  ashes 
from  a  cigarette  in  a  characteristic  and  thoughtless 
gesture.  He  was  sitting  just  around  the  corner  of  a 
huge  bowlder  not  far  away,  his  back  to  it,  and  a  dull 
gleam  of  reflected  moonlight  revealed  the  end  of  his 
rifle. 

From  where  he  now  lay  Johnny  could  see  the  smol- 
dering ruins  of  his  cabin,  where  the  flames  were  low 
and  the  flying  sparks  but  few.  A  little  current  of  air 
fanned  the  ashes  for  a  few  minutes  and  sent  the  sparks 
swirling  and  dancing,  and  the  flickering,  ghostly  flames 
licking  upward  with  renewed  life.  The  increased  light, 
fitful  as  it  had  been,  brought  a  smile  to  his  face ;  for 
he  had  caught  sight  of  a  pair  of  spurred  boots  project- 
ing beyond  a  rock  not  far  from  the  glowing  embers. 

"  Ah,  th'  devil ! "  muttered  the  man  near  him.  "  I'm 
gowV  home.  He's  scared  out." 

99 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


The  speaker  arose  and  stretched,  and  grumblingly 
leaned  over  to  pick  up  his  sombrero,  the  moon  light- 
ing his  hair;  and  he  suddenly  crumpled  forward  and 
sprawled  out  without  a  groan  as  Johnny's  Colt  struck 
his  head. 

The  owner  of  the  spurred  boots,  down  behind  the 
rock  near  the  cabin,  wriggled  backward  and  looked  up 
to  see  what  had  made  the  noise,  caught  sight  of  a  dim, 
ghostly  figure  moving  past  a  bowlder  and  called  up 
to  it. 

"Come  on,  Ben;  let's  get  goin'.  Where's  Flem- 
ing?" 

"Thanks  to  my  fool  idea  of  strategy,"  said  a  peeved 
voice  high  above  the  cabin,  "which  I  borrowed  from 
our  doughty  friend,  Mr.  Ackerman,  I'm  up  here, 
smoked  up  like  a  ham.  I  ain't  stuck  on  this.  Shootin' 
a  good  man  from  ambush  never  did  set  well  on  my 
stummick.  Reckon  Ben's  asleep,  like  a  reg'lar  sentry; 
he  didn't  have  th'  cussed  smoke  to  make  things  inter- 
estin'  for  him.  Hey,  Ben ! "  he  called,  wearily. 

"No  use  yellinV  warned  Spurred  Boots  earnestly. 
"  He  ain't  asleep.  I  just  saw  him  move.  Up  to  some 
of  his  fool  jokes,  I  reckon;  an'  it's  a  d — d  poor  time 
to  play  'em.  I'm  a  little  nervous,  an'  might  shoot 
without  askin'  any  questions.  Comin'  down?" 

"  Yo're  just  whistlin'  I  am,"  growled  Fleming.  "  It's 
all  fool  nonsense,  us  three  watchin'  an'  waitin'  to 

100 


A  Skirmish  in  the  Night 


shoot  that  feller.  When  he  finds  his  shack  burned 
an'  his  rustlin'  business  busted  up,  he'll  move  out  with- 
out us  pluggin'  him.  D — n  it !  Didn't  he  say  he  was 
done?  But  you  just  listen  to  th'  mockin'  bird:  If 
there's  any  shootin'  to  be  done,  he'll  do  his  little,  two- 
handed  share.  I've  been  eddicated  today;  done  had  a 
superstition  knocked  sprawlin'.  An'  so  did  Jim  get 
eddicated.  He  made  his  play  for  that  feller's  right 
hand,  when  d— d  if  he  ain't  left-handed.  It  made 
Jim  near  sick;  for  a  minute  I  was  scared  he'd  lose  his 
dinner.  An'  I  allus  believed  left-handed  men  came 
in  third  by  two  lengths;  but  lawsy  me!  What?  I'm 
insulted!  I  said  lawsy." 

"You  shore  can  talk!"  admired  Spurred  Boots. 
"  Sometimes  a  cussed  lot  too  much.  What  in  blazes 
is  Ben  doin'?"  he  asked  petulantly,  stiffly  arising  and 
working  his  arms  and  legs. 

"  Fixin'  to  jump  out  on  us  from  behind  a  rock,  an' 
yell  *  Boo ! ' ' '  grunted  Fleming.  "  Ben,  he's  an  orig- 
inal felJer;  allus  was,  even  as  a  kid.  D — n  these 
thorns."  A  thin  stream  of  profanity  came  from  the 
crevice  and  Fleming  slid  down  the  rest  of  the  way 
and  rolled  out  into  the  circle  of  illumination.  "Just 
like  water  down  a  chute,  or  a  merry-hearted  bowlder 
down  a  hill.  Roll,  Jordan,  roll.  Was  you  askin'  about 
Benjamin,  th'  catcher  of  lightning?  Benjamin  Frank- 
lin Gates,  his  name  is;  an'  he's  done  gone  home.  He's 

101 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


a  sensible  feller,  B.  F.  G.  is;  but  only  in  spots,  little 
spots,  widely  spaced." 

"You  talk  as  much  as  Jim  Howard's  wife,"  grum- 
bled Spurred  Boots.  "  Jim  he  said — " 

"Of  course  he  did!  wasn't  it  awful?"  interposed 
Fleming.  "It  was  just  like  a  man.  But  I  thinfe 
it  was  me  that  told  you  that  story;  so  we'll  let  it  keep 
its  secret.  As  I  was  sayin',  getting  in  my  words  edge- 
ways like,  but  shore  gettin'  'em  in:  Ben  has  pulled  th* 
picket  stake,  an'  like  th'  Arabs,  done  went." 

"You  mean  Arapahoes." 

"Did  I?  I  allus  call  'em  that  for  short.  Have 
mercy,  Jehovah ! " 

"I  saw  him  move  just  before  I  spoke,"  replied 
Spurred  Boots  positively.  "  But  that  was  a  long  time 
ago,  before  th'  deluge,  of  words,"  he  jabbed  ironi- 
cally. 

"Cease;  spare  thy  whacks.  An'  where  th'  h — 1 
did  you  ever  hear  of  th'  deluge?  Some  Old  Timer 
tell  you  about  it?  "  responded  Fleming.  "  I  been  seein' 
things,  too.  All  kinds  of  things.  Some  had  tails  but 
no  legs;  some  had  legs  but  no  tails;  an'  to  make  a 
short  tale  shorter,  that  was  a  ghost  what  you  saw. 
A  wild,  woopin',  woppin'  ghost.  Come  on,  Nat; 
let's  flit." 

"Then  my  ghost  lit  a  cigarette  a  long  time  back," 
retorted  Nat  Harrison.  "  An'  then  it  said  '  flop.'  Do 

102 


A  Skirmish  in  the  Night 


they  smoke  cigarettes?"  he  demanded  with  great  sar- 
casm. 

"Some  does;  an'  some  smokes  hops;  an'  some 
smokes  dried  loco  weed,"  grinned  Fleming.  "That 
was  a  spark  what  you  saw,  an'  th'  musical  flop  was 
a  trout  fish  turnin'  cartwheels  on  th'  water.  One  of 
them  sparks  plumb  lit  on  th'  back  of  my  neck,  an'  I 
cussed  near  jumped  over  th'  edge  an'  made  a  'flop' 
of  my  own  for  myself.  An'  it's  a  blamed  long  walk 
home,"  he  sighed. 

"There's  th'  lightnin's  play-fellow  now!  See  him, 
up  there?"  demanded  Harrison.  "Must  'a'  been 
off  scoutin'.  Hey,  Ben!  Wait  for  us — be  right  up." 

Fleming  glanced  up  as  another  vagrant  breeze 
fanned  the  embers,  and  he  forthwith  did  several  things 
at  once,  and  did  them  quite  well.  Sending  Harrison 
plunging  down  behind  a  rock  by  one  great  shove,  he 
jumped  for  another  and  fired  as  he  moved.  "Ben 
h — 1 ! "  he  shouted,  firing  again.  "  I've  seen  that 
hombre  before  today.  Keep  yore  head  down,  an'  get 
busy!" 

Two  alert  and  attentive  young  men  gave  keen  scru- 
tiny to  the  ridge  and  wondered  what  would  happen 
next.  Thirty  minutes  went  by,  and  then  Harrison 
rolled  over  and  over,  laughing  uproariously. 

"Cussed  if  it  ain't  funny!"  he  gurgled.  "'Some 
smoke  cigarettes,  some  smokes  hops,  an'  some  smokes 

103 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


dried  loco  weed ! '  Ha-ha-ha  !  An'  I  reckon  yo're  still 
seein'  them  woopin'  woops." 

"You'll  see  somethin'  worse  if  you  moves  out  into 
sight,"  retorted  Fleming.  "That  ghost  that  /  just 
saw  was  a  human  that  ain't  got  to  th'  ghost  state  yet. 
If  you  don't  believe  me,  you  ask  Ackerman,  if  you've 
got  th'  nerve." 

Harrison  rose  nonchalantly  and  sauntered  over 
toward  the  embers.  "Come  on,  Art;  I'm  cussed  near 
asleep,"  he  yawned. 

"You  acts  like  you  was  plumb  asleep,  an'  walkin' 
in  it,"  snapped  Fleming  angrily.  "But  it's  a  good 
idea,"  he  admitted  ironically.  "You  stay  right  there 
an'  draw  his  fire,  an'  I'll  pull  at  his  flash.  You  make 
a  good  decoy,  naturally;  it  comes  easy  to  you.  A 
decoy  is  an  imitation.  Stand  still,  now,  so  he  can  line 
up  his  sights  on  you.  /'m  all  ready." 

Harrison  grinned  and  waved  his  hand  airily. 
"There  ain't  no  human  up  there,"  he  placidly  re- 
marked. "An'  I  don't  care  if  Benjamin  F.  is  there: 
she  goes  as  she  lays.  What  you  saw  was  a  bear  or  a 
lobo  or  a  cougar  come  up  to  see  th'  fire,  an'  hear  you 
orate  from  th'  mountain  top.  They'll  go  long  ways 
to  see  curious  things.  In  th'  book,  on  page  eighteen, 
it  says  that  they  has  great  streaks  of  humor,  an'  a 
fittin'  sense  of  th'  ridiculous.  Animals  are  awful  curi- 
ous about  little  things.  An'  on  page  thirty-one  it  says 

104 


A  Skirmish  in  the  Night 


they  has  a  powerful  sense  of  smell ;  an'  you  know  you 
was  up  purty  high.  An'  I  ain't  lookin'  forward  with 
joy  unconfmed  to  gropin'  along  no  moonlit  trail  with 
th'  boss  of  th'  wolf  tribe,  or  other  big  varmits  sneakin* 
around.  I  might  step  on  a  tail  an'  loosen  things  up 
considerable.  They're  hell  on  wheels  when  you  steps 
on  their  tails,  poor  things." 

"La!  La!"  said  Fleming  sympathetically.  "Just 
because  you  have  got  yore  head  out  of  th'  window  it 
don't  say  you  ain't  goin'  to  get  no  cinder  in  yore  eye. 
A  lead  cinder.  Lemme  tell  you  that  animal  wore 
pants  an'  a  big  sombrero.  I  tell  you  I  saw  him!" 

"It  was  one  of  them  sparks,"  grunted  the  other, 
enjoying  himself.  "  One  of  'em  that  plumb  lit  on  th* 
back  of  yore  neck.  A  spark  is  a  little  piece  of  burnin* 
wood  which  soars  like  th'  eagle,  an'  when  it  comes 
down  makes  sores  like  th'  devil.  Te-de-dum-dum  I 
Howsomeever,  if  yo're  goin'  with  me,  yo're  goin'  to 
start  right  now  —  I've  done  it  already,"  and  he  walked 
slowly  toward  the  creek. 

Fleming  arose  and  hesitated,  scanning  the  ridge 
with  searching  eyes.  Then  he  stepped  out  and  fol- 
lowed his  friend,  who  already  was  across  the  creek 
and  climbing  the  steep  bank. 

After  reaching  the  top  of  the  steep  part  of  the 
ridge  he  glanced  about  over  the  great  slope  and  then 
paused  for  breath  and  reflection,  peering  curiously 

105 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


toward  the  tree-shaded  hollow  where  he  had  seen  the 
much-debated  movement.  Obeying  a  sudden  impulse 
he  drew  his  gun  and  went  cautiously  forward,  bent 
low  and  taking  full  advantage  of  the  cover.  A  deep 
groan  at  his  side  made  him  jump  and  step  back.  Cau- 
tiously peering  over  a  large  rock  he  started  in  sudden 
surprise,  swearing  under  his  breath.  Benjamin  Frank- 
lin Gates,  neatly  trussed  and  gagged,  lay  against  the 
rock  on  its  far  side,  and  his  baleful  eyes  spoke  vol- 
umes. There  came  a  soft  step  behind  Fleming  and  he 
wheeled  like  a  flash,  his  upraised  gun  cutting  down 
swiftly,  and  came  within  an  ace  of  pulling  the  trigger 
at  Harrison,  who  writhed  sideways  and  snarled  at  him. 
Then  Harrison  also  saw  the  bound  figure  on  the  ground 
and  swore  with  depth,  feeling,  and  vigor. 

"Smokes  dried  loco  weed!"  he  jeered  sarcastically, 
his  voice  barely  audible.  "  I  feels  uncomfortable,  en- 
tirely too  present,"  he  whispered,  sinking  quietly  to 
the  ground. 

"Which  is  unanimous,"  remarked  Fleming,  with  sim- 
ple emphasis.  "  Ben,  he  ain't  sayin'  nothin',"  he  added 
cheerfully. 

An  angry  gurgle  came  from  the  bound  figure  and  it 
rolled  over  to  face  them.  Harrison  grinned  at  it. 
"  Under  other  circumstances  I  could  enjoy  this  unusual 
situation,"  he  remarked  softly. 

"  Face  to  face  with  Ben,  an*  him  not  sayin1  a  word," 

106 


A  Skirmish  in  the  Night 


marveled  Fleming,  his  eyes  busy  with  the  rock-strewn 
slope.  "  But  I  can  almost  hear  him  think.  Twinkle, 
twinkle,  little  star  —  wonder  where  Mr.  Two-gun  Nel- 
son is  located  at  this  short,  brief,  an'  interestin'  sec- 
ond?" 

Another  gurgle  slobbered  from  the  bound  man  and 
his  heels  thumped  the  ground. 

"Harkl"  said  Harrison,  tensely.  "I  hears  me  a 
noise ! " 

"I  hears  me  it,  too,"  said  Fleming.  "But  not  a 
word;  not  a  soft,  harsh,  lovin',  long,  short,  or  profane 
word.  Not  even  a  syllable.  Not  even  th'  front  end 
of  a  syllable.  All  is  silent;  all  but  that  mysterious 
drummin'  noise.  An'  if  it  was  farther  away  I'd  be 
quite  restless." 

A  coughing  gurgle  and  a  choked  snort  came  from  the 
base  of  the  rock,  and  then  a  louder,  more  persistent 
drumming. 

"An'  you  said  Benjamin  had  done  snuk  home,"  ac- 
cused Harrison.  "I'm  surprised  at  you.  He's  been 
here  all  th'  time.  How  could  he  snuk  when  he's  hog- 
tied,  which  is  appropriate?  Gurgle,  gurgle,  little  man 
—  I'll  untie  you  if  I  can."  He  bent  over,  cut  loose  the 
gag,  slashed  the  belt  from  the  trussed  feet  and  severed 
the  neckerchief  from  the  crossed  wrists.  "There! 
There !  Not  so  loud ! "  he  gently  chided. 

"Blankety  dashed  blank  blank  I"  said  Ben  Gates. 

107 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


"Dashed  blankety  dashed  blank  blank!  What  th' 
h — 1  you  want  to  cut  that  belt  for,  you  dashed  dashed 
blankety  blank  of  a  dash !  Three  dollars  done  gone  to 
th'  devil !  Just  because  you  got  a  blankety-blank  knife 
do  you  have  to  slash  every  dashed-dashed  thing  you 
seel" 

"Sh!"  whispered  Fleming.  "We  know  yo're 
grateful;  but  what  happened ?"  he  breathed,  too  busy 
to  look  around. 

"  Shut  yore  face !  "  ordered  Harrison,  trying  in  vain 
to  stare  through  a  great,  black  lava  bowlder  which  lay 
on  the  other  side  of  a  small  clearing. 

"  Dashed  blank!  "  said  Benjamin.  "  It's  been  shut 
enough,  you  d — d  pie-faced  doodle-bug!  " 

"Yes;  yes;  we  know/'  soothed  Fleming;  "but  what 
happened?" 

"Leaned  over  to  get  my  blankety-blank  hat  and  a 
dashed  tree  fell  on  my  blank  head ! "  He  felt  of  the 
afore-mentioned  head  with  a  light  and  tender  touch; 
and  the  generous  bump  made  him  swear  again. 

"  It's  that  prospectin'  rustler,"  enlightened  Fleming, 
gratis,  as  he  peered  into  the  shadows  behind  him. 

"No!"  said  Gates.  "I  reckoned  it  was  General 
Grant  an'  th'  Army  of  th'  Potomac!  Dead  shore  it 
wasn't  Columbus?"  he  sneered. 

"It  was  not  Columbus,  Benjamin,"  said  Fleming. 
"Columbus  discovered  America  in  1492  or  1942 — • 

108 


A  Skirmish  in  the  Night 


some  time  around  there.  Ain't  you  heard  about  it  yet? 
An'  somehow  I  feels  like  a  calf  bein'  drug  to  th' 
brandin'  fire.  I  feels  that  I'm  goin'  to  get  somethin' 
soon;  an'  I  ain't  shore  just  what  it's  goin'  to  be." 

"You'll  get  it,  all  right,"  cheered  Harrison,  anger 
in  his  voice  withal.  "It'll  be  a  snub-nosed  .45,  if  you 
don't  shut  up  yore  trap.  You  ain't  openin'  no  Fourth 
of  July  celebration,  or  runnin'  for  Congress." 

Ben  felt  for  his  gun  and  cursed  peevishly.  "  My 
guns  are  gone:  lend  me  one  of  yourn!  "  he  said. 

"Th'  gentleman  has  quite  a  collection,"  chuckled 
Harrison.  "Three  Colts  an'  a  Winchester.  Good 
pickin',  says  he.  Good  enough,  says  I.  True,  says  he ; 
but,  he  says,  I  have  hopes  of  more.  Ta-ta!  jeers  I." 

"  Shut  yore  face ! "  growled  Fleming,  writhing. 

"  I  want  a  gun,  an'  I  wants  it  now ! "  blazed  Gates, 
pugnaciously. 

"  Fair  sir,  how  many  guns  do  you  think  we  pack?  " 
demanded  Harrison. 

"You  got  a  rifle  an'  a  Colt!"  snapped  Gates.  "I 
wants  one  of  'em ! " 

"  He  only  wants  one  of  'em,"  said  Fleming. 

"I  was  scared  you'd  be  a  hog,"  said  Harrison. 
"Here;  take  this  Winchester,  an'  keep  it.  Bein'  gen- 
erous is  all  right;  but  it  has  its  limits." 

Gates  gripped  the  weapon  affectionately  and  sat  up. 
"No  use  of  stayin'  here  like  we  done  took  root,"  he 

109 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


said,  rising  to  his  feet.  "We  wants  to  spread  out. 
Mebby  he's  still  hangin'  around." 

"Yes;  an'  shoot  each  other,"  growled  Harrison. 
"I'm  goin'  to  spread  out,  all  right;  an'  when  I  quits 
spreadin'  I'll  be  in  my  little  bunk.  He's  a  mile  away 
by  now ;  but  if  he  ain't,  don't  you  let  him  have  that  gun ; 
he's  got  enough  now." 

He  stopped  suddenly,  and  their  hair  arose  on  their 
heads  as  a  long-drawn,  piercing  scream  rang  out.  It 
sounded  like  a  woman  in  mortal  agony  and  it  came 
from  the  ridge  above  them.  From  the  upper  end  of 
the  rock-walled  pasture  below  came  a  howl,  deep,  long- 
drawn,  evil,  threatening.  They  turned  searching  eyes 
toward  the  nearer  sound  and  saw  a  crescent  bulk  sil- 
houetted against  the  moon.  It  lay  in  the  top  of  a 
blasted  pine,  and  as  they  looked,  it  raised  its  chunky 
head  and  neck  and  screamed  an  answering  challenge  to 
the  lobo  wolf  in  the  canyon. 

Ben  moved  swiftly,  and  a  spurt  or  flame  split  the 
night,  crashing  echoes  returning  in  waves.  The  cres- 
cent silhouette  in  the  tree-top  leaped  convulsively  and 
crashed  to  the  ground,  breaking  off  the  dead  limbs  in 
its  fall,  and  then  there  ensued  a  spitting,  snarling, 
thrashing  turmoil  as  the  great  panther  scored  the  earth 
in  its  agony. 

Ben's  friends  forsook  him  as  though  he  were  a  leper 
and  melted  into  the  shadows,  cursing  him  from  A  to  Z. 


A  Skirmish  in  the  Night 


They  wanted  no  ringing  notice  of  their  presence  broad- 
casted, and  the  flash  and  roar  of  the  heavy  rifle  had 
done  just  that. 

As  they  faded  into  the  darker  shadows  farther  back 
a  crashing  sounded  in  the  brush  and  they  peered  forth 
to  see  the  great  panther  plunging  and  writhing  through 
the  bushes,  smashing  its  way  through  the  oak  brush  in 
desperate  plunges.  Reaching  the  edge  of  a  small  clear- 
ing it  gave  one  convulsive  leap,  another  harrowing 
scream  and  thudded  against  a  bowlder,  where  it  sud- 
denly relaxed  and  lay  quiet. 

"There's  near  a  quart  of  corn  juice  up  in  my  bunk, 
an'  I'm  goin'  for  it,"  said  Harrison,  moving  swiftly  up 
the  rough  trail.  "  I  need  it,  an'  I  need  it  bad ! " 

"That  cat's  mate  ain't  fur  away,"  remarked  Flem- 
ing thoughtfully.  "It's  due  hereabouts  right  soon. 
I'm  stickin'  closer  than  a  brother,  Nat.  Lead  me  to 
th'  fluid  which  consoleth,  arouseth  anger  and  dulleth 
pain;  blaster  of  homes,  causer  of — of — headaches, 
d — n  it!  Ben,  he's  a  great  hunter,  a  wild,  untamed, 
ferocious  slayer  of  varmints;  he  can  stay  here  an'  argue 
with  th'  inquirin'  mate,  if  he  wants,  while  we  wafts  yon- 
der an'  hence.  It  won't  be  draped  up  in  no  tree,  nei- 
ther; somehow  I  can  just  see  it  sniffin'  at  th'  beloved 
dead  an'  then  soft-footin'  through  th'  brush,  over  th' 
ridges  an'  around  th'  bowlders,  its  whiskers  bristlin', 
its  wicked  little  ears  pointed  back,  an'  its  long,  generous 

in 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


tail  goin'  jerk-jerk,  tremble-tremble.  Lovely  picture. 
Fascinatin'  picture.  It  is  lookin'  real  hard  for  th'  mis- 
guided son-of-a-gun  that  killed  its  tuneful  mate.  Nice 
kitty ;  pretty  kitty ;  lovely  kitty !  I  votes,  twice,  for  that 
whiskey.  I  votes  three  times  for  that  whiskey.  Lead 
th'  way,  Nat;  an'  for  my  sake  keep  yore  eyes  peeled." 

Quick,  heavy  steps  behind  them  made  them  jump  for 
cover,  turning  as  they  jumped,  and  to  peer  anxiously 
back  along  the  trail. 

Ben  walked  into  sight,  the  rifle  held  loosely  in  front 
of  him  as  he  peered  into  the  shadows.  "You  acts  like 
you  has  springs  in  yore  laigs,"  he  derisively  remarked. 

"  An'  you  acts  like  you  had  sour  dough  for  brains," 
courteously  retorted  Harrison.  "An'  it's  so  sour  it's 
moldy.  Go  away  from  here !  " 

"  Yo're  a  great  little,  two-laigged  success,"  sneered 
Fleming.  "  Reg'lar  Dan'l  Boone.  I  hopes  if  any  gent 
ever  trails  me  for  my  scalp  it  will  be  you.  You  wants 
to  buy  yoreself  a  big  tin  whistle  an'  a  bass  drum  when 
you  go  out  ambushin' !  " 

"I  claims  that  was  a  good  shot,"  complacently  re* 
plied  Ben.  "  What  with  it  bein'  near  dark,  an'  a 
strange  gun,  an'  my  head  most  splittin',  I  holds  it  was. 
Must  'a'  been  to  make  you  long-winded  ijuts  so  d — d 
jealous." 

"Trouble  is,  yore  head  didn't  split  enough,"  grum- 
Wed  Harrison  pleasantly.  "It  should  'a'  been  split 

112 


A  Skirmish  in  the  Night 


from  topknot  to  chin.  Next  time  /  goes  man-huntin', 
you  stays  home  with  yore  pretty  picture  books." 

"Suits  me,"  grunted  Ben  placidly.  "Yore  company 
hurts  my  ears,  offends  my  nose,  an'  shocks  my  eyes. 
An'  as  for  th'  excitement,  why  I  done  got  enough  of 
that  to  —  look  out!"  he  yelled,  firing  without  raising 
the  gun  to  his  shoulder. 

An  answering  flash  split  the  darkness  between  two 
bowlders  further  up  the  slope  and  Ben  pitched  side- 
ways. His  companions  fired  as  if  by  magic;  the  instant 
return  fire  sent  Harrison  reeling  backward.  He  tripped 
on  a  root  and  fell  sprawling,  the  gun  flying  from  his 
hand.  Fleming  leaped  toward  a  huge  rock,  firing  as 
he  jumped,  and  slid  behind  the  cover,  where  he  sighed, 
and  groped  for  his  gun  with  trembling  hands.  Groans 
and  muttered  curses  came  from  the  trail,  and  Fleming, 
raising  himself  to  a  sitting  position,  his  back  against  a 
rock,  saw  Harrison  dragging  himself  toward  his  gun 
and  a  clump  of  brush. 

14  You  stay  where  you  are,"  said  an  ominous  voice, 
"  an'  put  up  yore  hands ! " 

Lying  in  a  patch  of  moonlight,  Harrison  could  do 
nothing  bv*  obey;  but  Fleming  nerved  himself  and 
picked  up  his  gun,  still  able  to  fight  and  only  waiting 
for  his  enemy  to  show  himself.  Several  minutes  passed 
and  then  a  hand  darted  over  the  rock  and  wrenched 
Fleming's  gun  out  of  the  weak  hand  that  held  it. 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


"You  ain't  goin'  to  get  hurt  no  more  if  you  acts 
sensible,"  said  the  new  owner  of  the  gun.  "Where 
you  hit?'* 

"Thigh  an'  shoulder,1'  muttered  Fleming  weakly. 

The  stranger  fell  to  work  swiftly  and  deftly  and  in 
a  short  time  he  arose  and  moved  toward  the  two  men 
in  the  clearing.  "You'll  be  all  right  after  yore  friends 
get  you  home,"  he  said  over  his  shoulder.  Reaching 
the  two  figures  on  the  trail  he  first  took  their  guns  and 
then  looked  them  over. 

"This  feller  with  th'  lump  on  his  head  is  my  old 
friend,  th'  smoker,"  said  Johnny.  "  He's  got  a  crease 
in  his  scalp.  Barrin'  a  little  blood  an'  a  big  headache, 
he'll  be  all  right  after  a  while.  Where'd  I  get  you?" 
he  demanded  of  Harrison. 

"Arm,"  grunted  Harrison.  "Through  th'  flesh. 
I  done  tripped  an'  fell  —  must  'a'  near  busted  a  rock 
with  my  fool  head  when  I  lit,"  he  said,  as  if  to  explain 
his  subsequent  inaction.  "We  reckoned  you'd  left  th' 
country  till  we  found  th'  package  you  tied  up  an'  left." 

"  I  come  back  for  th'  rest  of  my  stuff,"  replied 
Johnny.  "I  was  scared  to  come  up  th'  valley." 

"  You  acts  like  you'd  scare  easy,"  admitted  Harrison. 
"  I'm  sorry  you  ain't  got  more  nerve,"  he  grinned  de- 
spite the  pain  in  his  arm. 

"Here,"  said  Johnny,  squatting  beside  him,  "lemme 
tie  up  that  arm.  I  wasn't  aimin'  to  shoot  nobody  till  I 

114 


A  Skirmish  in  the  Night 


was  cornered,"  he  grinned.  "  I  heard  what  you  fellers 
said,  back  in  th'  valley,  an'  that's  why.  I  was  plumb 
peaceful,  tryin'  to  slip  away,  when  that  gent  up  an'  let 
drive  at  me.  Bein'  in  a  pocket  made  by  them  fool 
bowlders  I  couldn't  get  out,  so  I  had  to  cut  down  on  you 
with  both  hands.  Th'  dark  shadows  helped  me  a  lot; 
you  couldn't  see  what  you  was  shootin'  at.  An*  any- 
how, I  owe  him  somethin'.  I  was  under  that  tree  when 
he  up  an'  dumped  that  pleasant  cougar  down  on  top  of 
me,  right  in  my  arms.  Never  was  more  surprised  in 
all  my  life.  An'  to  make  matters  worse,  this  is  my  best 
pair  of  pants." 

"  Show  'em  to  me ! "  begged  Harrison. 

Johnny  stepped  back  for  inspection  and  waved  his 
hands  at  the  trousers;  and  Harrison  had  to  laugh  at 
what  he  saw.  What  was  left  of  them  formed  a  very 
short  kilt,  and  the  underwear  was  torn  into  bloody 
strips. 

Harrison  wept. 

"  I'mpullin'  my  stakes,11  continued  Johnny  pleasantly. 
"  This  layout  is  too  excitin'  for  a  man  of  my  bashful  an* 
retirin'  disposition.  You  can  tell  Quigley  he  don't  have 
to  set  no  more  ambushes  in  that  valley,  an'  also  that  th' 
first  time  I  meet  him  I'm  goin'  to  smoke  him  up  with 
both  hands.  I'm  honin'  for  to  get  a  look  at  him,  just 
a  quick  glance.  Give  my  regards  to  yore  friend  Acker- 
man  ;  his  gun,  an'  that  other  feller's,  is  with  Pop  Hayes ; 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


but  mebby  they  ought  to  wait  till  I  leave  th'  country  be- 
fore they  go  in  for  'em." 

He  turned  on  his  heel  and  walked  slowly  away, 
with  a  pronounced  limp,  a  present  from  the  cougar. 
When  he  reached  the  edge  of  the  clearing  he  paused 
and  faced  about. 

"You  two  fellers  will  be  all  right  in  a  little  while, 
an'  if  you  can't  get  yore  friend  home,  you  can  send 
them  that  can.  I'll  take  yore  six-guns  along  with  me 
so  there  won't  be  no  accidents;  but  I'll  leave  this  rifle 
over  here  on  this  rock,  empty.  Th'  cartridges  are  on 
th'  ground  on  th'  other  side  of  th'  rock.  That  cougar's 
mate  is  some  het  up  about  now,  I  reckons,  an'  you  may 
need  it.  Better  not  come  for  it  for  a  couple  of  minutes. 
There's  been  enough  shootin'  already.  Adios"  and 
he  was  gone  as  silently  as  a  shadow. 

Harrison  sat  cross-legged  and  waited  considerable 
more  than  two  minutes  and  then  walked  slowly  toward 
the  rifle.  As  he  picked  it  up  there  came  a  haunting 
scream  and  a  rolling  fusillade  of  shots  from  the  south. 
Then  a  distant  voice  called  faintly. 

"I  got  th'  mate,  an*  lost  th'  rest  of  my  pants. 
'Adiosl" 

"  I'll  be  d — d ! "  grunted  Harrison,  going  toward  his 
friend  at  the  rock.  "That  feller  is  one  cheerful  hom- 
bre;  an'  a  white  man,  too.  If  I  was  Quigley,  I'll  bet 
four  bits  I  wouldn't  show  my  face  in  Hastings  till  he 

116 


A  Skirmish  in  the  Night 


was  a  long  way  off.  No,  ma'am;  not  a-tall.  Here, 
Art ;  you  take  th'  gun  till  I  go  back  an'  see  how  Dan'l 
Boone  is  comin'  along.  He's  a  rip-snortin',  high-class 
success,  he  is!  I'll  bet  you  he'll  brag  about  droppin' 
that  cougar,  you  just  wait  an'  see.  Hello,  you  wild 
jackass !  How  you  feel !  " 

"You  can  go  to  h — 1"  snorted  the  man  with  the 
creased  scalp,  sitting  up.  "An'  I  don't  care  a  cuss 
when  you  starts,  or  how  you  goes.  I'm  fond  of  excite- 
ment, thrive  on  it  an*  get  fat;  but  I  serves  notice,  here 
an'  now,  that  I'm  quittin'.  Any  man  that  takes  th'  trail 
with  you  two  fools  is  a  bigger  fool.  Great  guns !  I 
won't  have  no  head  left  after  a  while ! " 

"You  never  did  have  one  that  amounted  to  any- 
thin',"  said  Harrison  cheerfully.  "  I  admit  that  it's  a 
handy  place  to  hang  a  hat,  but  when  that  is  said,  th' 
story  is  ended.  Amen.  You  set  right  where  you  are 
till  you  are  able  to  walk,  an'  then  we'll  get  Art  home." 

"Takin'  Art  home  is  what  we  should  'a'  done  long 
ago ;  we're  doin'  this  thing  backwards,  th'  d — n  fool !  " 
moaned  Ben.  "We'd  'a'  been  home  long  ago  if  it 
wasn't  for  him." 

"  Huh  ?  "  muttered  Harrison.  "  Well,  I'll  be  d— d ! 
Say !  If  it  wasn't  for  you  pluggin'  that  cat  we'd  'a'  been 
home,  whole  an'  happy,  sleepin'  th'  sleep  of  th'  inner- 
cent,  When  you  got  that  bright  idea,  you  shore  touched 
off  a-plenty.  He  was  pullin'  his  stakes,  aimin1  to  get 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


out  peaceful,  when  you  dumped  that  panther  right 
down  plumb  around  his  neck!  Man!  Man!  But  I 
wish  I'd  V  seen  that!  Benjamin,  if  you  only  knowed 
what  I'm  thinkin'  about  you !  Words  ain't  capable  of 
revealin'  my  thoughts;  they  fall  far  short;  an'  if  I  used 
enough  words  I'd  strain  my  vo — vocabulary,  till  it 
never  would  be  any  good  any  more.  An'  I  can  only 
swear  in  English,  Spanish,  Navajo,  an*  Ute.  An  edu- 
cation must  be  a  grand  thing." 

uTh'  breaks  was  ag'in  us,"  explained  Benjamin. 

"  Lord,  please  hold  me  back ! "  prayed  Harrison. 

Well  to  the  south  of  them  a  limping  cow-puncher, 
with  no  trousers  at  all  now,  and  blood-soaked  strips  of 
underwear  pasted  to  his  torn  and  bleeding  legs,  pushed 
doggedly  toward  his  horse,  swearing  at  almost  every 
painful  step  and  avoiding  all  kinds  of  brush  as  he  pains- 
takingly held  to  the  middle  of  the  dried  bed  of  the 
creek.  His  shirt  tail,  cut  into  ragged  strips,  flapped  in 
the  cold  breeze  where  not  held  down  by  the  weight  of 
the  sagging  belts  and  holsters;  and  in  his  hands  he  car- 
ried the  captured  Colts. 

Reaching  his  horse  he  fastened  the  extra  weapons 
to  his  saddle,  carefully  drew  on  his  chaps,  coiled  up  the 
picket  rope  and  climbed  gingerly  astride. 

"  Come  on,  Pepper ! "  he  growled  "  Pull  out  of  this. 
I  got  a  pair  of  pants  wrapped  up  in  that  tarpaulin  at 
th'  mouth  of  th*  valley;  an*  I  wants  'em  bad.  You 

tit 


A  Skirmish  in  the  Night 


shore  missed  somethin'  this  evening  you  lucky  old 
cow!" 

When  day  broke  it  revealed  a  shivering,  grumbling 
cow-puncher  washing  his  cuts  and  gashes  in  the  cold, 
pure  water  of  Nelson's  creek.  Retiring  to  the  pebbly 
bank,  he  tore  up  a  clean  shirt  and  used  it  all  for  band- 
ages, after  which  he  carefully  drew  on  a  pair  of  clean 
underdrawers  and  covered  them  with  a  pair  of  well- 
worn  trousers.  The  chaps  came  next  as  a  protection 
against  whipping  branches  and  clinging  brush.  Rolling 
up  the  tarpaulin  he  fastened  it  behind  his  saddle  and, 
mounting  stiffly,  started  for  Hastings. 

Some  hours  later  he  lolled  at  ease  and  related  to  the 
grinning  proprietor  the  strange  and  exciting  occur- 
rences of  the  night.  Pop  was  swung  from  one  extreme 
to  the  other  as  the  tale  unfolded,  while  Andrew  Jackson 
chuckled,  whistled,  and  laughed  until  the  narrator's 
scratching  fingers  lulled  him  into  a  deep  and  soul-stir- 
ring ecstasy. 

"  You  shore  started  some  fireworks,"  chuckled  Pop 
when  the  tale  was  finished.  "An*  yo're  cussed  lucky, 
too.  When  Ackerman  showed  his  hand  yesterday  I 
knowed  trouble  was  fixin'  to  ride  you  to  a  frazzled  fin- 
ish. Now  what  d— -d  fool  thing  are  you  goin'  to  do  ?  " 
he  demanded  anxiously. 

"  I'm  goin'  to  keep  out  of  that  valley,"  reluctantly 
answered  Johnny.  "  It  ain't  got  no  charms  for  me  no 

119 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


more.  They've  burned  my  cabin,  an'  I  reckon  I  got  all 
th'  gold  there  was,  anyhow.  When  my  legs  get  well 
I'm  goin'  to  try  it  again  somewhere  else.  Twin  Buttes 
are  too  unlucky  for  me." 

"Now  yo're  shoutin',"  beamed  Pop.  "You  just  set 
around  here  an'  take  things  easy  for  a  few  days,  while 
me  an'  Charley  fixes  that  tarp  so  it'll  be  a  pack  cover 
an'  a  tent  that  is  one.  No  prospector  wants  to  build  a 
shack  unless  winter  ketches  him  in  th'  hills  or  he  finds 
a  rich  strike.  Me  an'  you  an'  Charley  will  go  fishin*  a 
few  days  from  now  an'  have  a  reg'lar  rest.  I'm  all 
tired  out,  too.  Business  is  shore  confinin'."  He  looked 
Johnny  over  and  chuckled.  "  Cussed  if  I  wouldn't  'a' 
give  six  pesos,  U.  S.,  to  'a'  seen  that  cougar  a-fannin' 
you!  He-he-he  I" 


1 20 


CHAPTER  X 

A   CHANGE  OF  BASE 

JOHNNY,  upon  leaving  Hastings,  struck  south  from 
it  and  spent  the  night  west  of  the  Circle  S  after  a 
journey  of  twenty  miles  on  foot.  Pepper  was  again  a 
pack  horse,  and  the  diamond  hitch  which  held  the  bulg- 
ing tarpaulin  in  place  would  have  dispelled  any  doubt 
as  to  Johnny's  abilities  to  cut  loose  from  civilization 
and  thrive  in  the  lonely  places.  And  he  had  cut  loose 
when  he  placed  a  note  under  a  rock  behind  a  certain 
tree  near  the  ford;  for  when  "Hen"  Crosby,  riding 
for  the  mail,  saw  the  agreed-upon  sign  on  the  tree,  it 
would  not  be  long  before  Logan  had  the  note. 

Following  the  line  of  least  resistance,  the  second  day 
found  him  bearing  westerly,  and  the  next  three  days 
found  him  crowding  the  pack  on  Pepper's  back  and 
riding  due  north  through  a  country  broken,  wild,  and 
without  a  trail.  The  way  was  not  as  difficult  as  it 
might  have  been  because  the  valleys  joined  one  another, 
and  through  them  all  flowed  creeks,  which  made  a 
trail  that  left  no  tracks.  To  an  experienced  man  who 
had  plenty  of  time  the  difficulties  were  more  often 
avoided  than  conquered. 

At  noon  of  the  fifth  day  he  drove  Pepper  slantingly 

121 


The  Man  -from  Bar-20 


up  the  wall  of  a  crumbling  butte,  and,  reaching  the  top, 
looked  around  for  his  bearings.  They  were  easily 
found,  for  Twin  Buttcs  looked  too  much  alike,  even 
from  the  rear,  to  be  easily  mistaken ;  and  they  loomed 
too  high  to  be  overlooked.  Almost  on  a  direct  line 
with  the  Twins  lay  Quigley's  cabins,  a  matter  of  fif- 
teen miles  from  him;  which  he  decided  was  too  far. 
That  distance  covered  twice  daily  would  take  up  too 
much  time.  Returning  to  the  valley  he  built  a  fire,  had 
dinner,  and,  hanging  the  edible  supplies  on  tree  limbs 
for  safety,  whistled  Pepper  to  him  and  departed  to- 
ward the  Twins. 

Two  hours  later  he  left  the  horse  in  a  deep  draw  and 
crawled  up  the  eastern  bank.  Crossing  a  bowl- 
der-strewn plateau  he  not  long  afterward  wriggled  to 
the  edge  of  Quigley's  valley  and  looked  down  into  it. 

The  size  of  the  enclosed  range  amazed  him,  for  it 
was  fully  thirteen  miles  long,  eight  miles  across  at  its 
widest,  the  northern  end,  and  three  miles  wide  at  the 
middle,  where  massive  cliffs  jutted  far  out  from  each 
side. 

The  more  he  saw  of  it  the  better  he  liked  it.  The 
grass  was  better  and  thicker  than  even  that  in  the  prized 
and  fought-for  valley  of  the  old  Bar-2O.  He  judged 
it  to  contain  about  eighty  square  miles  and  believed  that 
it  could  feed  two  hundred  cows  to  the  mile.  The  main 
stream,  which  he  named  Rustler  Creek,  flowed  through 

122 


A  Change  of  Base 


a  deep  ravine  and  was  fed,  in  the  valley  alone,  by  six 
smaller  creeks.  There  was  a  sizable  swamp  and  six 
lakes,  one  of  them  nearly  a  mile  long.  It  was  singu- 
larly free  from  bowlders  and  rocks  except  at  a  place 
near  the  upper  wall,  where  a  great  collection  of  them 
extended  out  from  a  broken  cliff. 

Except  at  three  places  the  canyons  which  cut  into 
the  cliffs  were  blind  alleys  and  he  could  see  that  two  of 
them  had  narrow  waterfalls  at  their  upper  ends.  The 
three  open  canyons  were  the  only  places  where  cattle 
could  leave  the  great  "sink,"  as  Johnny  called  it;  and 
they  were  strongly  fenced.  The  first  was  the  entrance 
canyon,  near  the  houses ;  the  second  was  a  deep,  steep 
walled  defile  at  the  northwest  corner  of  the  range,  and 
it  led  into  another,  but  smaller  valley,  also  heavily 
grassed.  Through  it  ran  a  small  stream  which  joined 
Rustler  Creek  at  the  swamp.  The  third  canyon,  at 
the  northeast  corner  of  the  valley,  was  wide  enough  to 
let  Rustler  Creek  flow  through  it  and  leave  room  for 
the  passing  of  cattle;  and  judging  by  the  gates  in  the 
heavy  fence  which  crossed  it,  Johnny  knew  this  to  be 
the  exit  through  which  the  drive  herds  went.  Where 
that  drive  trail  led  to  he  did  not  know,  but  he  believed 
it  to  pass  well  to  the  west  of  Hope. 

Taking  it  all  in  all,  it  was  the  most  perfect  range 
he  ever  had  seen.  Rich  in  grass  so  heavy  and  thick 
as  to  make  him  wonder  at  it,  naturally  irrigated, 

123 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


blessed  with  natural  reservoirs,  surrounded  by  a  per- 
pendicular wall  of  rock  which  at  some  places  attained 
a  height  of  three  hundred  feet,  the  water  courses  lined 
with  timber,  its  arroyos  and  draws  heavily  wooded,  and 
with  but  three  places,  easily  closed  and  guarded,  where 
cattle  could  get  out,  it  made  the  Tin  Cup  and  the  Bar- 
20,  large  as  they  were,  look  like  jokes.  Its  outfit  could 
laugh  at  rustlers,  droughts,  and  blizzards,  grow  fat  and 
lazy  and  have  neither  boundary  disputes  nor  range 
wars  to  bother  them.  There  were  no  brands  of  neigh- 
boring ranches  to  complicate  the  roundups  and  not  a 
cow  would  be  lost  through  straying  or  theft. 

Having  located  the  valley,  he  slipped  away,  mounted 
his  horse  and  rode  back  the  way  he  had  come,  looking 
for  a  good  place  to  pitch  his  camp.  Five  miles  from 
the  valley  he  found  it — a  cave-like  recess  under  the 
towering  wall  of  a  butte,  half  way  up  the  wooded  slope 
which  lay  at  the  foot  of  the  wall.  From  it  he  could 
command  all  approaches  for  several  hundred  yards, 
while  his  tarpaulin  would  be  screened  by  bowlders  and 
trees.  It  was  high  enough  for  purposes  of  observation, 
but  not  so  high  that  the  smoke  from  his  fire  would  have 
density  enough  when  it  reached  the  top  of  the  butte  to 
be  seen  for  any  distance.  A  spring  close  by  formed 
pools  in  the  hollows  of  the  rocks  below  him.  The  greaC 
buttes  lying  to  the  east  of  the  fire  would  screen  its  lighi; 
from  any  wandering  member  of  Quigley'a  outfit 

124 


A  Change  of  Base 


This  is  it,"  he  grunted     "We'll  locate  here  to- 


morrow." 


The  following  day,  having  put  his  new  camp  to 
rights,  he  rode  up  the  western  slope  of  the  great  plateau 
which  hemmed  in  Quigley's  ranch,  picketed  his  horse 
in  a  clearing,  and  after  a  cautious  reconnaissance  on 
foot  he  reached  the  edge  of  the  cliffs,  and  the  valley  lay 
before  him.  Cattle  grazed  near  a  little  lake,  but  at 
that  distance  he  could  not  read  the  brands.  He  first 
had  to  find  out  if  any  of  the  outfit  ever  rode  along  the 
top  of  the  cliffs,  and  he  struck  straight  back  to  cross 
any  such  trails.  By  evening  he  had  covered  the  west- 
ern side  of  the  ranch  without  finding  a  hoof-print,  or  a 
way  up  the  sheer  walls  where  a  horseman  could  reach 
the  top.  There  were  several  places  where  a  cool- 
headed  man  could  climb  up,  and  at  one  of  these  Johnny 
found  several  burned  matches. 

The  next  day  was  spent  on  the  plateau  north  of  the 
ranch,  and  the  third  and  fourth  days  found  him  exam- 
ining the  eastern  side;  and  it  was  here  that  he  found 
signs  of  riders.  There  were  three  blind  canyons  on 
this  side,  and  the  middle  one  had  a  good  trail  running 
up  its  northern  wall,  and  it  appeared  to  be  used  fre- 
quently. At  the  top  it  divided,  one  branch  running 
north  and  the  other  south.  It  was  the  only  place  on 
that  side  of  the  valley  where  a  horseman  could  get  out. 

Now  that  he  had  become  familiar  with  his  surround- 

125 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


ings  he  began  his  real  work.  If  Quigley  had  rustled, 
the  operations  could  be  divided  into  two  classes :  past 
operations,  now  finished;  or  present  operations  which 
were  to  continue.  It  was  possible  that  enough  cattle 
had  been  stolen  in  the  past  so  that  the  natural  increase 
would  satisfy  a  man  of  modest  ambitions.  In  this  case 
his  danger  would  decrease  as  time  passed  and  eventu- 
ally he  would  have  a  well-stocked  range  and  be  above 
suspicion.  If  he  were  avaricious  the  rustling  would 
continue,  if  only  spasmodically,  until  he  had  made  all 
the  money  he  wanted  or  until  his  operations  became 
known. 

Johnny  early  had  discovered  that  Quigley's  brand 
was  QE  and  this  increased  his  suspicions,  for  the  E 
could  not  be  explained.  Logan's  brand  was  childishly 
simple  to  change :  The  C  could  become  an  O,  Q,  G, 
or  wagon-wheel;  the  L  would  make  an  E,  Triangle, 
Square,  or  a  4. 

Satisfied  that  the  foundation  of  Quigley's  brand  had 
been  the  CL,  Johnny  had  to  discover  if  Logan's  cattle 
still  were  being  taken  to  swell  the  Quigley  herds.  Lo- 
gan's inaction  and  his  easy-going  way  of  running  his 
ranch  jarred  Johnny,  for  the  foreman  had  confessed 
that  for  the  last  few  years  the  natural  increase,  figured 
in  the  fall  roundups,  had  not  tallied  with  the  number 
of  calves  branded  each  preceding  spring.  But  Logan 
was  not  altogether  to  blame,  because  the  Barrier  had 

126 


A  Change  of  Base 


given  him  a  false  security  and  there  was  nothing  to  fear 
from  other  directions.  It  was  the  last  spring  roundup 
and  its  tally  sheets  which  had  stirred  him;  and  a  close 
study  of  his  drive-herd  records  and  the  use  of  ,  factor 
of  natural  increase  suddenly  brought  to  his  mind  a 
startling  suspicion.  Even  then  he  wavered,  fearing  that 
he  was  allowing  an  old  and  bitter  grudge  to  sway  him 
unduly;  and  before  he  had  time  to  make  any  real  inves- 
tigations, Johnny  had  appeared  and  demanded  a  job. 

Among  Quigley's  cattle  the  proportion  of  calves  to 
cows  was  so  small  that  Johnny  could  not  fail  to  notice 
it.  He  was  satisfied  that  the  QE,  so  prominently  dis- 
played, originally  had  been  CL,  but  when  he  caught 
sight  of  a  crusty  old  steer  near  the  mouth  of  the  second 
canyon  all  doubts  were  removed.  While  the  mark 
was  an  old  one,  the  rebranding  had  been  done 
carelessly.  The  segment  which  closed  the  original 
C  had  not  been  properly  joined  to  the  old  brand, 
and  there  was  a  space  between  the  ends  of 
the  two  marks  where  they  overlapped.  A  look 
at  the  ears  made  him  smile  grimly,  for  Logan's 
shallow  V  notch  had  become  a  rounded  scallop;  and 
there  was  no  honest  reason  why  Quigley  should  notch 
the  ears  of  his  cows  when  there  was  no  chance  of  them 
getting  mixed  up  with  the  cattle  of  any  other  ranch, 
The  scallop  had  been  made  simply  to  cut  out  the  tell 
tale  V  notch, 

127 


CHAPTER  XI 

NOCTURNAL  ACTIVITIES 

EGHT  gleamed  from  Quigley's  ranch-houses  and 
an  occasional  squeal  came  from  the  corral,  suggest- 
ing that  "Big  Jake"  was  getting  up  steam  for  more 
deviltry.  Occasionally  a  shadow  passed  across  the 
lighted  patches  of  ground  below  the  windows  and  the 
low  song  of  Rustler  Creek  could  be  heard  as  it  swirled 
into  the  long,  black  canyon.  Save  for  the  glow  of  the 
windows  and  the  rectangles  of  light  below  them  every- 
thing was  wrapped  in  darkness,  and  the  canyon,  the 
range,  and  the  rims  of  the  cliffs  were  hidden. 

"A  miner,  'forty-niner,  and  his  daughter,  Clemen- 
tine'9  came  from  the  middle  house  as  Art  Fleming 
dolefully  made  known  the  sorrowful  details  of  Clem- 
entine's passing  out.  He  put  his  heart  into  it  because 
he  had  troubles  of  his  own,  for  which  he  frankly  and 
profanely  gave  Ben  Gates  due  discredit. 

Ben,  tiring  of  the  dirge,  heaved  a  boot  with  a  snap- 
shooter's  judgment  and  instantly  forsook  the  heavy  in- 
hospitality  of  the  house  for  the  peace  and  freedom  of 
the  great  outdoors.  He  plumped  down  on  a  bench  and 
immediately  arose  therefrom. 

"Look  where  yo're  settin',  you  blunderin*  jackass!11 

128 


Nocturnal  Activities 


snarled  a  hostile  voice  from  the  same  bench.  "  Yo're 
as  big  a  nuisance  as  a  frisky  bummer  in  a  night  herd  I " 

"A  bull's  eye  for  Mr.  Harrison/1  chanted  the  man 
inside. 

"  You  two  buzzards  are  about  as  cheerful  an'  pleas- 
ant as  a  rattler  in  August,"  snapped  Gates  belligerently. 
"Like  two  old  wimmin,  you  are,  both  of  you!  Settin' 
around  in  everybody's  way,  tellin1  yore  troubles  over 
anj  over  again  till  everybody  wishes  Nelson  had  done  a 
better  job.  How'd  /  know  you  was  sprawled  out, 
takin'  up  all  th'  room?  You  reminds  me  of  a  fool  dog 
that  sets  around  stickin'  its  tail  in  everybody's  way,  an' 
then  howls  blue  murder  when  it's  stepped  on.  Think 
yo're  th'  only  people  on  this  ranch  that  has  any  trou- 
bles?" 

"A  miss  for  Mr.  Gates,"  said  the  irritated  voice 
within  the  house.  "An'  if  he  will  stick  his  infected 
head  in  that  door,  just  for  one,  two,  three,  he'll  have 
more  troubles,"  prophesied  Mr.  Fleming,  facing  the 
opening  with  a  boot  nicely  balanced  in  his  upraised 
hand.  "  If  it  wasn't  for  him,  we  — " 

"Shut  up!  Shut  up!"  yelled  Gates,  enraged  in  an 
instant.  "If  you  says  that  much  more  I'll  bust  yore 
fool  neck!  For  G-d's  sake,  is  that  all  you  know,  An- 
drew  Jackson?" 

"  If  it  wasn't  for  you,"  said  the  man  on  the  bench 
Very  deliberately  as  his  hand  closed  over  a  piece  of  fire* 

129 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


wood,  "I  said,  if — it — wasn't — for — you,  we'd  be 
ridinr  with  the  boys  tonight,  instead  of  stayin'  around 
these  houses  like  three  sick  babies." 

"Another  bull's  eye  for  Mr.  Harrison,"  said  the 
man  inside. 

Gates  wheeled  with  an  oath.  "  An'  if  it  wasn't  for 
you  sound  asleep  in  th'  valley;  an'  Fleming  sound  asleep 
up  on  that  butte,  I  wouldn't  'a'  been  lammed  on  th'  head 
an'  tied  up  like  a  sack!  It's  purty  cussed  tough  when 
a  man  with  nothin'  worse  than  a  scalp  wound  has  to 
lay  up  this  way ! " 

"  Bull's  eye  for  Mr.  Gates,"  announced  the  man  in 
the  cabin,  with  great  relish. 

"  If  you'd  been  wide  awake  yoreself,"  retorted  Har- 
rison, "  you  wouldn't  'a'  been  tied  >sp !  You  didn't  even 
squawk  when  he  hit  you,  so  we'd  know  he  was  around. 
Was  you  tryin'  to  keep  it  a  secret?"  he  demanded  with 
withering  sarcasm.  "An'  as  for  them  bandages,  how 
did  /  know  th'  dog  had  been  sleepin'  on  'em?  Cookie 
gave  'em  to  me ! " 

"Bull's  eye  for  Mr.  Harrison,"  said  Fleming. 
"But  he  was  awake,"  he  continued  with  vast  convic- 
tion. "He  wat  wide  awake.  He  ain't  got  no  more 
sense  awake  than  he  has  asleep.  When  he's  got  his 
boots  on,  his  brains  are  cramped  an'  suffocated." 

"You  got  him  figgered  wrong,"  said  Harrison 
"  His  brains  are  only  suffocated  when  he  sets  down." 

If* 


Nocturnal  Activities 


While  the  little  comedy  was  being  enacted  at  the 
bunk-houses,  the  main  body  of  rustlers  followed  Quig- 
ley  down  the  steeply  sloping  bottom  of  a  concealed 
crevice  miles  north  of  the  ranch-house  of  the  CL.  The 
five  men  emerged  quietly  and  paused  on  the  edge  of 
the  curving  Deepwater,  and  then  slowly  followed  their 
leader  into  the  icy  stream.  The  current,  weakened 
by  a  widening  of  the  river  at  this  point,  still  flowed 
with  sufficient  strength  to  make  itself  felt  and  the  slowly 
moving  horses  leaned  against  it  as  they  filed  across 
the  secret  ford.  Reaching  the  farther  bank  the  second 
and  third  men  rode  quietly  to  right  and  left,  rapidly 
becoming  vague  and  then  lost  to  sight.  The  three  re- 
maining riders  sat  quietly  in  their  saddles  for  what,  to 
them,  seemed  to  be  a  long  time.  Suddenly  a  low  whis- 
tle sounded  on  the  left,  followed  instantly  by  another 
on  the  right;  and  like  released  springs  the  rustlers 
leaped  into  action. 

Vague,  ghostly  figures  moved  over  the  open  plain, 
finding  cows  with  uncanny  directness  and  certainty. 
Two  riders  held  the  nucleus  of  the  little  herd,  which 
grew  steadily  as  lumbering  cows,  followed  inexorably 
by  skilled  riders,  pushed  out  of  the  darkness.  There 
was  no  conversation,  no  whistling  now,  nor  singing,  but 
a  silence  which,  coupled  to  the  ghost-like  action  and 
the  dexterous  swiftness,  made  the  drama  seem  unreal. 

There  came  an  abrupt  change.    The  two  men  riding 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


herd  saw  no  more  looming  cattle  or  riders,  which 
seemed  to  be  a  matter  of  significance  to  them,  for  they 
faced  southward,  guns  in  hand,  and  pushed  slowly  back 
along  the  flanks  of  the  little  herd.  Peering  into  the 
shrouding  gray  darkness,  tense  and  alert,  eyes  and  ears 
straining  to  read  the  riddle,  they  waited  like  sooty 
statues  for  whtt<*^er  might  occur,  rigid  and  unmoving. 

A  sudden  thickening  in  the  night.  A  figure  seemed 
to  flow  from  indefinable  density  to  the  outlines  of  a 
mounted  man.  A  low  voice,  profanely  irritant,  spoke 
reassuringly  and  grew  silent  as  the  rider  oozed  back 
into  the  effacing  night. 

"Shore,**  muttered  a  herder,  relaxing  and  slipping 
his  gun  into  its  holster.  He  moved  forward  swiftly 
and  turned  back  a  venturesome  cow.  His  companion, 
growling  but  relieved,  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  set- 
tled back  to  wait. 

Minutes  passed  and  then  another  lumbering  blot 
emerged  out  of  the  dark,  became  a  cow,  and  found  re- 
assurance in  numbers  as  it  willingly  joined  the  herd. 
The  escorting  rider  kept  on,  pushed  back  his  sombrero 
and  growled :  "  They're  scattered  to  h — 1  an*  gone  to- 
night; but,*'  he  grudgingly  admitted,  "they  acts  plumb 
do-cile.  S'long." 

Another  wait,  long  and  fruitless,  edged  anew  the 
nerves  of  the  herders.  Then  Quigley,  Ackerman,  and 
Purdy  moved  out  of  the  obscurity  of  the  night  and  took 

13* 


Nocturnal  Activities 


up  positions  around  the  herd,  urging  it  forward.  When 
they  had  it  started  on  its  way,  Ackerman  dropped  back 
and  became  lost  to  sight,  engaged  in  his  characteristic 
patroling,  suspicious  and  malevolent. 

The  little  herd,  skilfully  guided  over  clean  patches 
of  rock  which  led  deviously  to  the  water's  edge  and  left 
no  signs  on  its  hard  surface,  at  last  reached  the  river, 
where  a  shiver  of  hesitancy  rippled  through  it  and  where 
the  rear  cows  pushed  solidly  against  the  front  rank, 
which  appeared  to  be  calling  upon  its  inherent  obstinacy. 
The  craft  and  diplomacy  of  Quigley's  long  experience 
won  out  and  the  uncertain  front  rank  slowly  and  grudg- 
ingly entered  the  stream,  the  others  following  without 
noticeable  hesitation.  As  the  last  cow  crossed  and  scram- 
bled up  the  western  bank,  Ackerman  rode  down  to  the 
water's  edge,  pushed  in  and  crossed  silently,  only  the 
lengthening  ripple  on  the  black  surface  telling  of  his 
progress.  As  he  climbed  out  he  squirmed  in  his  wet 
clothes  and  swore  from  sudden  anger,  which  called 
forth  a  low  ripple  of  laughter  from  the  base  of  the 
Barrier,  where  the  others  took  their  discomforts  lightly. 

"Scared  you'll  shrink,  Jim?"  softly  said  an  ironic 
voice. 

"Or  dissolve,  like  sugar?"  inquired  another  scoff- 
ingly. 

"Sugar?"  jeered  a  third.  "Huh!  He's  about  as 
sweet  as  a  hunk  of  alum  I " 

133 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


Ackerman's  retort  caused  grins  to  bloom  unseen,  and 
the  miseries  of  wet  clothes  and  chilled  bodies  were 
somewhat  relieved  by  the  thought  that  Ackerman  felt 
them  the  most. 

Up  the  crevice  in  orderly  array,  docile  as  sheep, 
climbed  the  cattle,  and  when  they  reached  the  top  of  the 
plateau  they  moved  along  stolidly  under  guidance  and 
finally  gained  the  outer  valley  leading  to  the  QE  by  a 
trail  west  of  arid  parallel  to  the  one  which  showed  the 
way  to  Hastings. 

Back  on  the  QE,  Fleming  and  his  friends,  having 
awakened  the  cook  at  an  unseemly  hour  by  their  noise, 
finally  turned  in  and  found  some  trouble  in  getting  to 
sleep,  thanks  to  the  energetic  efforts  of  the  boss  of  the 
kitchen,  who  most  firmly  believed  in  the  Mosaic  Law, 
and  had  the  courage  of  his  convictions.  But  things 
finally  quieted  down  and  peace  descended  upon  the 
ranch. 

Outside  the  bunk-house  and  behind  it,  a  blot  on  the 
ground  stirred  restlessly  and  slowly  resolved  itself  into 
a  man  arising.  He  moved  cautiously  along  the  wall 
toward  the  lighted  cook  shack  and  then  sank  down 
again,  hand  on  gun,  as  the  door  opened. 

Cookie  threw  out  a  pan  of  water,  scowled  up  at  the 
starry  sky  and  then  peered  intently  at  a  chicken-coop, 
visible  in  the  straggling  light  from  the  door,  from 

134 


Nocturnal  Activities 


which  a  sleepy  cackle  suddenly  broke  the  silence.  Mut- 
tering suspiciously  he  reached  behind  him  and  then 
slipped  swiftly  toward  the  shack,  a  shotgun  in  his  hands. 
Going  around  the  coop  he  stood  up  and  shook  his  fist 
at  the  darkness. 

"  You  can  dig  up  my  traps,  an'  smell  out  my  strych- 
nine, but  you  can't  dodge  these  buckshot  if  ever  I 
lays  th1  sights  on  you.  Dawg-gone  you,  I  owes  you 
a-plenty!  "  he  growled.  Striking  a  match  he  looked  in 
the  coop  and  around  it.  "  Had  two  dozen  as  nice  pul- 
lets as  anybody  ever  saw,  only  three  weeks  ago;  an' 
now  I  only  got  sixteen  left.  There,  blast  you!11  he 
swore,  as  the  second  match  revealed  the  telltale  tracks. 
"There  they  are!  O,  Lord!  Just  let  me  get  my  gun 
on  that  thievin1  ki-yote !  Just  once !  " 

He  stared  around  belligerently  and  went  slowly  back 
to  the  house,  swearing  and  grumbling  under  his  breath. 
It  is  the  cook's  fate  to  be  the  sworn  enemy  of  all 
coyotes,  and  let  it  be  said  without  shame  to  him  that  he 
seldom  is  a  victor  in  that  game  of  watchfulness  and 
wits.  And  also  let  it  be  said  that  often  with  tears  of 
rage  and  mortification,  and  words  beyond  repetition, 
he  pays  unintentional  tribute  to  the  uncanny  cunning  of 
the  four-legged  thieves.  With  guns,  dogs,  traps,  and 
poison  is  he  armed,  but  it  availeth  him  naught.  And 
as  bad  as  the  defeat  are  the  knowing  grins  of  the  rest 
of  the  outfit  who,  while  openly  cheering  on  the  doughty 

135 


The  Mem  from  Bar-20 


cook,  are  ready  to  wager  a  month's  wages  on  the 
coyote. 

The  man  on  the  ground  moved  again,  this  time  to- 
ward the  canyon,  and  soon  was  feeling  his  way  along 
the  great  eastern  wall.  Reaching  the  other  end,  he 
stopped  a  moment  to  listen,  and  then  went  on  again, 
groping  along  by  the  edge  of  the  stream  until  he  stum- 
bled over  a  dead  branch,  which  he  picked  up.  Then 
feeling  for  and  finding  a  certain  rock,  he  stepped  on  it 
and  with  his  foot  felt  for  and  found  another,  which 
was  partly  submerged  in  the  creek;  and  by  means  of 
this  and  others  he  crossed  dry-shod  to  the  opposite 
bank,  using  the  branch  as  a  staff. 

Daylight  was  near  when  Johnny  wriggled  to  the 
edge  of  the  cliff  opposite  the  houses  and  hid  behind  a 
fringe  of  grass  on  the  rim.  An  hour  passed  and  then 
his  keen  ears  caught  distant  sounds.  Below  him  the 
cook  was  rearranging  his  traps  and  swearing  at  the 
cleverness  of  his  four-footed  enemy.  Suddenly  he 
arose  and  hastened  to  the  kitchen  to  serve  a  hot  break- 
fast to  the  men  who  soon  drove  a  bunch  of  cattle  out  of 
the  canyon  and  into  the  small  corral. 

While  the  others  hastened  in  for  their  breakfast, 
Quigley  and  Ackerman  loitered  at  the  corral. 

"  Purty  good  for  five  men,  with  one  of  'em  playin' 
sentry,"  said  Quigley.  "  We'd  do  better  if  we  didn't 
have  to  scout  around  first." 

136 


'Nocturnal  Activities 


"  Scoutin's  necessary,"  replied  Ackerman.  "  It's  too 
wide  open.  This  bunch  ain't  worth  gettin*  wet  for. 
That  river's  cussed  cold!  " 

Quigley  chuckled.  "Huh!  I've  swum  it  when  tk' 
ice  was  comin'  down." 

"You  did,"  retorted  Ackerman.  "That  was  thf 
night  Logan  burned  our  houses.  You  had  to  swim  an' 
freeze,  or  stay  out  an'  get  shot.  You  went  in  pronto, 
that  night!" 

"You  beat  me  in  by  forty  yards,  an'  out  by  sixty! " 
snapped  Quigley. 

Ackerman  ignored  the  remark.  "  Not  satisfied  with 
nestin'  on  a  man's  range,  you  had  to  start  a  little  herd. 
We  didn't  bring  no  cows  with  us,  nor  buy  any  after- 
ward— but  what's  th'  use?  Let's  eat,"  and  he  led  the 
way  toward  the  cook  shack. 

Johnny  waited  a  few  minutes  and  then,  returning  to 
his  horse,  started  for  his  camp.  He  was  puzzled,  for 
no  place  near  Big  or  Little  Canyons  was  devoid  of  shel- 
ter, and  he  knew  of  no  other  places  where  cattle  could 
pass  the  Barrier.  He  had  noticed  that  the  backs  of  the 
cows  were  dry,  which  meant  that  they  had  forded  the 
river,  and  he  was  certain  that  the  crossing  had  not 
been  made  at  the  ford  near  Devil's  Gap.  He  had  to 
learn  the  location  of  the  place  they  visited  and  that  un- 
known ford;  and  he  wanted  to  learn  the  date  of  their 
next  raid. 

137 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


"We'll  have  to  trail  'em,  Pepper,"  he  growled. 
"An*  then  bust  all  runnin'  records  to  get  Logan  an' 
th'  boys.  Get  agoin' ;  I'm  sleepy." 


CHAPTER  XII 

YEASTY  SUSPICION 

A'KERMAN  walked  to  the  small  corral,  where 
two  straight  irons  were  in  a  fire  and  where  three 
men  were  cinching  up  in  preparation.  Fleming,  Harri- 
son, and  Gates,  lolling  on  the  ground,  kept  up  a  run- 
ning fire  of  comment,  and  Ackerman  stopped  and 
looked  down  at  them. 

"Three  cheerful  fools,"  he  grinned. 

"Here's  Little  Jimmy,"  remarked  Fleming;  "an* 
by  all  th'  Roman  gods,  he's  actually  grinnin' !  Look, 
fellers !  Behold  an1  ponder !  Mr.  Ackerman  wears  a 
smile!" 

"Sick?"  solicitously  inquired  Harrison. 

"Drunk?"  suspiciously  questioned  Gates. 

"Three  children,"  grunted  Ackerman.  "An*  scabby. 
Two  sentries  an'  a  hunter." 

Holbrook  poked  the  fire.  "Kit  Carson,  Dan'l 
Boone,  an'  Californy  Joe.  Three  scouts.  Th'  am- 
bushin'  trio." 

"  Faith,  Hope,  an'  Charity,"  chuckled  Purdy. 

"You  called  it,"  grinned  Holbrook. 

"If  Custer  had  only  had  'em,"  said  Ackerman, 
**  there'd  been  no  massacre." 

139 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


"Huh!"  grunted  Gates.  "What  could  /  do,  with 
diem  two  fools  herdin'  with  me? " 

"Not  so  much  herdin'  with  you,  as  tryin'  to  herd 
you,"  said  Harrison  blithely. 

Gates  sought  escape  by  creating  a  diversion,  and 
shouted :  "  Hey,  look  at  him ! "  and  pointing  at  the 
cook,  who  staggered  past  under  a  great  load  of  sap- 
lings and  poles. 

"Hey,  Cookie!"  he  shouted  stentoriously.  "Why 
don't  you  put  them  birds  in  th'  house  nights,  an1  sleep 
in  th'  coop,  yoreself  ?  " 

"  Or  give  him  some  of  that  there  strych-nine  that  we 
got  for  you?"  yelled  Sanford.  "There's  a  lot  of  it 
left,"  he  chuckled,  remembering  the  cook's  futile  rage 
when  he  had  found  the  poisoned  carcass  half  covered 
-over  with  dirt. 

The  cook,  his  glistening  face  crimson,  carefully  low- 
ered the  forward  end  of  the  poles  to  the  ground,  eased 
them  upright  with  his  shoulder  and  wiped  the  perspira- 
tion from  his  face  with  a  grimy  sleeve.  Turning  a  red 
countenance  toward  his  grinning  friends  he  started  to 
speak,  muttered  something,  spat  forcibly,  shouldered 
carefully  under  his  load  again  and  staggered  away  with 
as  much  dignity  as  he  could  command. 

"  That's  right,  Cookie,"  commended  Gates.  "  Don't 
you  waste  no  words  on  'cm  a-tall.  They're  a  lazy, 
worthless,  shiftless  lot.  If  they  wasn't  they'd  help  you 

140 


Yeasty  Suspicion 


tote  them  trees.  But  I  wish  you'd  tell  me  what  yo're 
aimin'  to  do,  because  if  yo're  goin'  to  rig  up  a  scaffold 
for  that  ki-yote,  I  want  to  be  around  when  he's  hung." 
He  turned  and  surveyed  the  group.  "You  ought  to 
be  ashamed  of  yoreselves,  lettin'  him  tote  that  load  his- 
self.  He  works  harder  than  any  man  on  this  ranch, 
an'  I  can  prove  it.  I  can  prove  it  by  him.  What  with 
buildin'  stockades  an'  scaffolds,  diggin'  holes  for  his 
traps,  poisonin'  baits,  an'  settin'  up  nights  with  his  shot- 
gun, he's  a  hard  workin'  member  of  this  outfit.  He 
ain't  got  no  time  to  set  around  an'  loaf  all  day  like  some- 
I  could  name  if  I  had  a  mind  to." 

"Hard  workin'!"  snorted  Purdy.  "That  ain't 
work-;  that's  fun !  He's  as  happy  doin'  that  as  others 
is  playin'  cards  or  somethin'.  He'd  get  mopey  if  that 
ki-yote  died.  A  man  allus  works  harder  at  hi«  fun- 
than  he  does  at  his  work.  Allus  I " 

"  Shore ! "  grunted  Holbrook.  "  I've  seen  men  so* 
lazy  that  they  growled  because  th'  sun  kept  'em  movin' 
to  stay  in  th'  shade;  but  show  'em  a  month's  good 
huntin'  an*  they'd  come  to  life  quick!  They'll  climb 
an'  hoof  it  all  day  to  get  a  shot  at  somethin';  but  if 
their  wife  asked  'em  to  rustle  a  bucket  of  water  you. 
could  hear  'em  holler,  clear  over  in  th'  next  county." 

"  Would  you  look  at  him  settin'  them  poles !  " 
chuckled  Gates.  "He's  shore  goin'  down  to  bed- 
rock!" 

141 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


Holbrook  pulled  an  iron  out  of  the  fire,  glanced  at 
it,  shoved  it  back  again  and  arose.  "Let  her  go,"  he 
said. 

At  the  word  two  men  vaulted  into  their  saddles  and 
rode  into  the  corral.  A  cow  blundered  out  and  was 
deftly  turned  toward  the  fire,  and  at  the  right  instant 
a  rope  shot  through  the  air,  straightened  and  grew 
taut;  and  the  cow,  thrown  heavily,  was  hog-tied, 
branded,  its  ears  cut  to  conform  to  the  QE  notch,  and 
released  in  a  remarkably  short  time.  Arising  it  waved 
its  lowered  head  from  side  to  side  and  started  to  charge 
Holbrook.  Gates  stepped  quickly  forward,  kicked  a 
spurt  of  dirt  in  its  face  and  a  clever  cow-pony  sent  it 
lumbering  out  through  the  gate  in  the  fence  and  onto 
the  range. 

"Maverick,"  grunted  Holbrook,  waiting  for  the 
next.  "Logan  shore  is  careless  in  his  calf  roundups. 
That's  four  of  'em  we  got  in  th'  last  two  raids.  Reckon 
he  thinks  brandin'  is  more  or  less  unnecessary,  th'  way 
he's  located.  An*  d — d  if  here  don't  come  another! 
Nope;  it's  a  sleeper.  Somebody  took  th'  trouble  to 
cut  th'  notch." 

Ackerman  did  his  share  of  the  work,  silent  and  pre- 
occupied, and  when  the  last  cow  had  been  turned  onto 
the  range  he  wheeled  abruptly,  looked  around,  and 
walked  over  to  Quigley,  who  was  approaching. 

"  I  reckon  I  better  go  off  on  a  little  scout,"  he  said. 

142 


Yeasty  Suspicion 


"I  ain't  satisfied  about  Nelson;  an'  th'  more  I  mills 
it  over,  th'  less  satisfied  I  am.  You  can  grin;  but  /'m 
tellin'  you  it  ain't  no  grinnin'  matter  1"  he  snapped, 
eying  the  group.  "  I'm  tellin'  you  what  /'m  goin'  to 
do,  an'  that's  all." 

"That's  for  you  to  say,"  smiled  Quigley.  "No- 
body's goin'  to  try  to  stop  you;  but  we  reckon  yo're 
only  makin*  trouble  for  yoreself.  He's  quit  th'  Twin 
Buttes  country.  I  understand  he's  prospectin'  south  of 
town." 

"He  ain't  prospectin'  none,"  retorted  Ackerman. 
"An'  he  wasn't  prospectin'  up  here,  neither;  he  was 
runnin'  a  bluff,  an'  makin'  it  stick.  /  looked  into  that 
gravel  bed!" 

Fleming  laughed.  "He  was  coverin'  his  rustlin' 
operations.  His  real  prospectin'  was  to  be  done  with  a 
rope  an'  a  runnin'  iron." 

"Yes,"  grunted  Sanford;  "an'  now  he's  doin'  th' 
same  thing  down  south,  I'll  bet.  Th'  Circle  S  has  got 
a  lot  of  sleepers  an'  mavericks  runnin'  on  their  out- 
lyin'  range.  Holmes  has  been  threatenin'  for  two  years 
to  round  'em  all  up;  but  when  he's  ready,  th'  Long  T 
ain't;  an'  t'other  way  around," 

"  Our  friend  is  goin'  to  set  right  down  on  a  rattler 
if  he  starts  rustlin'  down  there,"  grinned  Purdy. 
"  Them  two  ranches  are  wide  awake.  I  know,  because 
I've  looked  'em  over." 

143 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


11  He'll  tackle  th'  job,"  said  Harrison;  "  because  he's 
somethin'  of  a  pinwheel  hisself." 

"That's  how  I  figger  it,"  said  Holbrook  quickly. 
"A  burned  child  loves  th'  fire,  if  it's  stubborn.  Let 
him  alone ;  don't  stir  him  up.  We  don't  want  him  up 
here,  an'  that's  our  limit.  What  he  does  down  there 
ain't  no  game  for  us  to  horn  into.  Let  'em  fiddle  an' 
dance  an'  be  d — d." 

Ackerman  regarded  them  pityingly  and  shrugged  his 
shoulders.  "  I  pass  1  Ain't  there  no  way  to  get  it 
through  yore  heads  that  I  don't  believe  he's  interested 
in  anythin'  but  us?  It's  like  drillin'  in  granite.  I  ham- 
mer an'  hammer,  twist  th'  drill  an'  hammer  some  more ; 
an'  after  hard  work  all  I  got  is  a  little  hole,  with  a 
cussed  sight  more  granite  below  it !  I  feel  like  rammin' 
in  a  charge  of  powder  an'  blowin'  it  to  h — 1  an'  gone. 
Look  at  me  I  Listen!  Put  away  yore  marbles,  an' 
think/" 

"Why  don't  you  fellers  listen?  "  grinned  Fleming. 

"Just  because  he  went  south  don't  say  he  stayed 
there,"  hammered  Ackerman.  "He  wasn't  scared 
away;  not  by  a  d — d  sight.  /  know  that.  Fleming, 
Gates,  an'  Harrison  know  it.  We  all  know  it.  He 
went  south.  But  he  can  turn,  can't  he?  If  he  can't, 
lie's  in  a  h — 1  of  a  fix!  No  tellin'  where  he'll  end  up 
—  Patagonia,  mebby.  All  right,  he  can  turn.  It's  only 
a  question  of  where!  He's  goin'  to  turn;  an'  when  he 

144 


Yeasty  Suspicion 


does,  I'm  goin'  to  be  there  an'  see  him  do  it.  I'm  goin' 
to  make  it  my  business  to  find  him,  watch  him,  an'  trail 
him.  If  he  turns  north  I'm  goin'  to  get  him.  An'  if 
you'll  take  any  advice  from  me,  you'll  all  begin  to 
take  long  rides,  north,  east,  south,  an'  west;  mostly 
southwest  an'  west.  You'll  ride  in  pairs,  an'  you'll  keep 
yore  fool  eyes  open.  Th'  time  has  passed  for  loafin' 
around  here,  shootin'  craps  an'  swappin'  lies.  Yo're 
smokin'  on  an  open  powder  keg;  an'  d — n  you,  you  ain't 
got  sense  enough  to  know  it !  "  He  raised  his  clenched 
fists.  "Imeanitl  D —  n — you — you  —  ain't — got 
—  sense  —  enough  —  to  —  know  —  it ! " 

Quigley  laughed,  although  uneasily;  for  Ackerman's 
earnestness  carried  unrest  with  it.  "Jim,  Jim,"  he 
said  kindly,  "we've  been  up  here  a  long  time;  an'  we've 
given  these  hills  a  name  that  guards  'em  for  us.  Them 
that  bothered  us  disappeared;  an'  th'  lesson  was 
learned." 

"Was  it?"  shouted  Ackerman.  "He  didn't  learn 
it !  He  come  up  here,  plump  in  th'  face  of  yore  warnin', 
in  spite  of  what  he  had  heard  in  Hastings!  Why? 
Because  it's  his  business  to  come !  Because  he's  paid  to 
come!  He  ain't  one  of  them  Hastings  loafers!  He 
ain't  no  sleepy  puncher,  satisfied  to  draw  down  his  pay, 
an'  th'  h — 1  with  th'  ranch !  I  tell  you  you  never  saw  a 
man  like  him  before.  Can't  you  see  it?  Logan  found 
out  that  he  was  a  real  man,  a  gun  man,  an'  not  scared 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


of  h — 1  an'  high  water.  Then  he  quits  Logan,  an1 
comes  up  here.  Can't  you  see  it?  CW/you?  Think, 
d— nit;  THINK!" 

"I  did;  have  been,  an*  am,"  snapped  Quigley  an- 
grily. "Thinkin'  is  one  thing;  goin'  loco,  another.  / 
think  yo're  a  d — d  fool ! " 

Ackerman  threw  up  his  hands  in  a  helpless  gesture. 
"All  right;  have  it  yore  own  way.  I  give  it  up.  I  pass 
before  th'  draw.  But  I  ain't  swallerin'  no  pap  an' 
gazin'  at  th'  moon.  I'm  goin'  to  keep  my  eyes  on  Nel- 


son." 


"  You  want  to ;  he's  a  bad  hombre,"  said  Fleming 
uneasily. 

Ackerman  wheeled  and  smiled  at  the  speaker.  "  He 
is;  an'  he's  a  d — d  good  man.  I  takes  off  my  hat  to 
him;  an'  I  wish  to  heaven  we  had  a  few  Nelsons  up 
here;  this  ranch  would  hum.  An'  you'd  'a'  done 
better  if  you'd  follered  yore  own  advice.  I  won't  make 
th'  same  mistake  twice.  Th'  minute  he  makes  a  false 
move  I'll  plug  him.  I  underrated  him  before;  now  I'm 
goin'  to  overrate  him,  to  be  on  th'  safe  side.  But  you 
ain't  got  a  thing  to  say:  three  to  one,  an'  you  let  him 
make  fools  out  of  you ! " 

"I  admits  it,"  said  Fleming.  "An'  that's  why  I'm 
tellin'  you  to  look  out  for  him.  He's  as  quiet  as  a  flea ; 
an'  as  harmless  as  blastin'  powder.  I  wish  you  luck." 

"I  ain't  so  harmless  myself,"  retorted  Ackerman. 

146 


Yeasty  Suspicion 


"An'  now  I  know  what  I'm  buckin'.     You'll  see  me 
when  you  see  me ;  I'm  preparin'  to  be  gone  a  month  or 


more." 


They  watched  him  enter  the  bunk-house,  and  when 
he  came  out  again  he  had  his  saddle  and  a  blanket  roll ; 
and  when  he  rode  into  the  canyon  without  a  backward 
glance  or  a  parting  word  he  had  his  slicker,  a  generous 
supply  of  food,  and  plenty  of  ammunition. 

Quigley  watched  him  until  he  rode  out  of  sight  be- 
yond the  canyon,  and  turned  toward  his  outfit,  shaking 
his  head.  "He's  so  all-fired  set  on  it  that  I'm  gettin' 
a  little  restless  myself.  Jim  ain't  no  fool;  an'  he  don't 
often  shy  at  a  shadow.  It  won't  do  us  no  harm,  any- 
how; an'  we  can  take  turns  at  it.  I'll  start  it  off  by 
takin'  one  side  tomorrow,  an'  Holbrook  can  take  th' 
other.  Later  on  we'll  figger  it  out  an'  arrange  th' 
shifts.  Mebby  he's  right." 


147 


CHAPTER  XIII 

AN  OBSERVANT  OBSERVER 

JIM  ACKERMAN  strode  into  Pop  Hayes'  saloon, 
where  he  found  the  proprietor  and  Charley  James 
squabbling  acrimoniously  over  the  value  of  a  cribbage 
hand. 

"Not  satisfied  with  gettin'  a  twenty-four  hand," 
snorted  Charley,  "he  tries  to  make  it  twenty-seven, 
shovin'  'em  around  like  he  was  playin'  three-card 
monte!  You  old  fool!  You've  counted  them  runs 
once  more'n  you  oughter;  but  I  don't  care  how  much 
you  mills  'em;  it's  twenty-four  I " 

"  I  ain't  done  no  more  countin'  than  they'll  stand ! " 

"I  dunno  what  they9 II  stand;  but  I  knows  what  7'U 
stand.  It's  twenty-four ! " 

"Soon  as  you  gets  two  bits  up,"  sneered  Pop,  "you 
lose  yore  nerve.  You  can  play  all  day  for  fun,  an' 
never  loose  a  yelp ;  but  when  you've  got  money  up  you 
acts  like  you  was  stabbed !  " 

"That  so?  You  forget  how  to  count  when  there's 
money  up ! " 

"When  yo're  winnin*  everything  is  lovely;  but  when 
yo're  losin'  you  go  on  th'  prod  I " 

"  You  don't  have  to  go ;  yo're  allus  rarin'  around  on 

148 


An  Observant  Observer 


yore  hind  laigs,  a-pawin'  th'  air  an'  snortin'.  Leave  it 
to  Ackerman.  I  dare  you !  " 

"  I'll  leave  it  to  anybody  but  you.  You  hadn't  ought 
to  even  play  for  thj  drinks.  Jim,  look  at  that  twenty- 
seven  hand  an'  tell  that  fool  what  it  counts,  will  you?  " 

Ackerman  moved  it  around  and  grinned.  "  Fifteen 
eight;  two  pairs  is  twelve,  an'  four  runs  of  three  makes 
that  twenty-seven  hand  count  just  twenty-four.  An'  it's 
a  cussed  good  hand,  too ;  you  shore  knows  how  to  dis- 
card." 

Charley  nodded  emphatically.  "  There !  I  told  you 
so!" 

Pop  raised  his  hands  helplessly  to  heaven.  "  How 
much  longer  have  I  got  to  keep  th'  peace?  Two  more 
like  you  an'  Charley  an'  this  country  would  go  plumb 
to  th'  dogs  1  Yo're  two  fools." 

"Now  who's  stabbed?"  jeered  Charley.  "You 
can  get  more  out  of  one  crib  hand  than  most  folks  can 
find  in  two.  '  Four,  five,  six,'"  he  mimicked.  "Why 
don't  you  shift  'em  around  an'  work  six,  five,  four;  an' 
five,  six,  four;  an'  four,  six,  five?  A  genius  like  you 
ought  to  get  thirty-six  out  of  a  twenty-four  hand  an' 
never  turn  a  hair.  I'm  such  a  stranger  to  a  hand  like 
that  that  I'd  be  satisfied  with  twenty-four.  I  ain't  no 
genius  at  figgers." 

"  If  I  told  you  what  you  are,  you'd  get  insulted !  " 

"Anybody  that  could  insult  you  could  make  cows 

149 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


live  on  malpais  an'  get  fat,"  sneered  Charley.  "I've 
done  called  you  a  liar,  an'  a  cheat,  an'  a  thief — " 

"  Hey !  Stop  that ! "  interposed  Ackerman.  "  Quit 
it;  an'  have  a  drink  with  me.  You'd  let  a  man  die  of 
thirst,  7  believes." 

Pop  shuffled  around  behind  the  bar  and  sullenly  pro- 
duced the  bottle  and  the  glasses.  "  I  know,  Jim,"  he 
apologized;  " but  you  don't  know  how  my  patience  gets 
tried!" 

Charley  snorted.  "  If  they  ever  tries  yore  patience 
they'll  lynch  it.  Here's  how,  Jim." 

"  Good  luck,"  said  Jim,  tossing  off  the  drink. 

Charley,  walking  back  toward  the  card  table,  caught 
sight  of  the  well-loaded  horse  outside;  and  Pop,  tak- 
ing advantage  of  the  situation,  reached  swiftly  under 
the  bar  and  slid  two  Colts  toward  Ackerman,  who 
frowned  and  pushed  them  back.  "  Some  other  time," 
he  growled.  "Ain't  goin'  back  right  away."  He 
pushed  his  hat  back  on  his  head.  "Any  news?" 

"There  ain't  never  any  news  in  this  place,"  an- 
swered the  proprietor.  "But  I  hear  as  how  th' 
Circle  S  has  fired  Long  Pete  Carson  for  stayin'  drunk. 
Long  Pete  was  all  het  up  over  it  an'  lets  drive  at 
Holmes.  Bein'  unsteady  he  missed  Dick  an'  nicked 
Harry  Kane.  Then  Dick  took  th'  gun  away  from  him 
an'  give  him  a  beatin'.  Dick's  hands  are  shore  eddi- 
cated.  Th'  Long  T  near  lost  three  bosses  in  that  quick* 

150 


An  Observant  Observer 


sand  near  Big  Bend;  an'  Smith  come  near  goin'  with 
'em.  An'  that  Nelson  is  prospectin'  somewhere  near 
th'  Circle  S,  if  he  ain't  left  th'  country." 

"What  makes  you  think  that  he's  mebby  left  th* 
country?"  inquired  Ackerman  casually. 

"  He  had  his  spirit  busted  when  his  cabin  burned. 
Said  this  country  was  too  full  of  dogs  for  a  white  man 
to  live  in.  But  I  reckon  he'll  work  around  th'  Circle 
S  or  th'  Long  T  a  while  before  he  quits  for  good." 

Charley  turned  and  grunted  derisively.  "  That's  all 
you  know  about  it.  He  crossed  the  river  near  th'  Cir- 
cle S,  over  Rocky  Ford,  an'  went  to  Bitter  Creek  hills." 

"How'd  you  know  he  did?"  demanded  Pop. 

"  I  was  told  by  th'  man  that  saw  him  do  it." 

"Who  was  that?"  asked  Pop,  indignant  because  he 
had  not  been  told  about  it  before. 

"  Yo're  a  reg'lar  old  woman,"  jeered  Charley.  "  You 
can  guess  it." 

"  Funny  he  didn't  tell  me,"  sighed  Pop. 

"  Mebby  he  reckoned  it  was  his  own  business,"  re- 
torted Charley.  "  Mebby  he  knowed  you'd  blurt  it  out 
to  everybody  you  saw." 

"  I  keep  things  under  my  belt !  " 

;<Yes;  food  an'  likker,"  chuckled  Charley,  enjoying 
himself.  "  If  nobody  come  around  for  you  to  tell  yore 
gossip  to,  cussed  if  you  wouldn't  tell  it  to  th'  sky,  night 
an'  mornin',  like  a  ki-yote." 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


"So  he's  still  prospectin',"  laughed  Ackerman. 
"  He'll  starve  to  death." 

"I  ain't  so  shore  about  that,"  said  Charley.  "He 
Weighed  his  gold  on  my  scales  an'  it  was  one  pound  an' 
eleven  ounces.  It  was  all  gold,  too ;  I  saw  it." 

"He-he-he!"  chuckled  Pop.  "If  yore  scales  said 
one  eleven  he  only  had  about  half  a  pound.  Them 
scales  are  worse  than  a  cold  deck." 

"That's  a  lie;  an'  you  know  it!  Them  scales  are 
honest!" 

"Then  they  ain't  'pervious  to  their  'sociations," 
grinned  Pop.  He  reached  behind  him,  picked  up  a 
package  and  turned  to  Ackerman.  "  Did  you  say  you 
was  goin'  near  th'  Circle  S?"  he  inquired. 

"He  did  not,"  said  Charley  gleefully.  "Didn't  I 
say  you  was  an  old  woman?" 

Ackerman  laughed,  winked  at  Charley  and  went  out ; 
and  the  two  cronies  listened  to  the  rapidly  dying  hoof- 
beats. 

Pop  wheeled  and  glared  at  his  friend.  "  Now  you've 
done  it!  Ain't  you  got  no  sense,  tellin'  him  where 
Nelson  is?" 

"If  I  had  much  I  wouldn't  hang  out  with  you," 
grinned  Charley.  " But  I  got  a  little;  an'  if  he  crosses 
th'  river  he  won't  find  Nelson.  A  Circle  S  puncher  saw 
him  hoofin'  it  into  th'  southwest.  Quien  sabe?" 

"  Sometimes  you  do  have  a  spark  of  common  sense,* 

152 


An  Observant  Observer 


said  Pop.  "  Sort  of  a  glimmer.  It's  real  noticeable  in 
you  when  it  shows  at  all,  just  like  a  match  looks  promi- 
nent in  th'  dark.  Pick  up  them  cards  an'  don't  do  no 
more  fancy  countin'." 

"  Countin'  wouldn't  do  me  no  good  while  yo're  mul- 
tiplyin'.  Get  agoin';  I  got  to  get  my  four  bits  back 
before  I  go  home." 

Well  to  the  south  of  the  two  friends  in  Hastings, 
Jim  Ackerman  loped  steadily  ahead,  debating  sev- 
eral things;  and  as  he  neared  the  Circle  S  range  a 
man  suddenly  arose  from  behind  a  rock.  There  was 
nothing  threatening  about  this  gentleman  except,  per- 
haps, his  sudden  and  unexpected  appearance ;  but  Ack- 
erman's  gun  had  him  covered  as  soon  as  his  head 
showed. 

"Turn  it  off  me,1'  said  the  man  behind  the  rock, 
a  note  of  pained  injury  in  his  voice.  "  My  intentions 
are  honorable;  an'  plumb  peaceful.  Yo're  most  scan- 
dalous suspicious." 

Ackerman  smiled  grimly.  "Mebby  I  am;  but  habit 
is  strong.  An'  one  of  my  worst  habits  is  suspicion. 
What's  th'  idea  of  this  jack-in-th'-box  proceedin'  of 
yourn?  You've  shore  got  funny  ways;  an'  plumb 
dangerous  ones." 

"  Reckon  mebby  it  does  look  that  way,"  said  the 
man  behind  the  rock.  "I  neglects  caution.  I  should 
V  covered  you  first  an'  then  popped  up.  That  shows 

153 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


how  plumb  innercent  an'  peaceful  I  am.  Yore  name's 
Jim  Ackerman,  ain't  it?" 

"  You  can't  allus  tell,"  replied  Ackerman. 

"That's  where  yo're  figgerin'  wrong.  I  can  allus 
tell.  Havin'  told  me  yore  name,  I'll  tell  you  mine. 
I'm  Pete  Carson,  known  hereabouts  an'  elsewhere  as 
Long  Pete.  Some  calls  me  Long-winded  Pete;  but  it's 
all  th'  same  to  me.  Pint  that  a  little  mite  more  to  th' 
sky;  thank  you,  sir.  I  was  punchin'  for  th'  Circle  S, 
but  th'  Circle  S  punched  me ;  then  it  fired  me.  I've  got 
to  eat,  so  I  got  to  work.  Th'  Long  T  ain't  hirin'; 
an'  I'd  starve  before  I'd  work  for  Logan.  I  ain't  no 
slave,  not  me. 

"I'm  settin'  there  in  th'  sun  whittlin'  a  stick  an' 
arguin'  with  myself.  I  was  gettin'  th'  worst  of  it  when 
I  hears  yore  noble  cayuse.  Not  bein'  curious  I  riz 
up  instanter  an'  looked  plumb  into  yore  gun — just  a 
little  mite  higher;  ah,  much  obliged." 

"What's  all  this  to  me?"  demanded  Ackerman  im- 
patiently. 

"That's  what  I'm  aimin'  to  find  out.  I  saw  you 
comin' — up  a  little  more;  thank  you.  Then  I  think 
I  got  a  new  chance.  I  want  a  job  an'  I  want  it  bad. 
Hold  it  in  yore  left  hand :  yore  right  hand  is  tired,  an' 
saggin1.  Any  chance  for  a  close-mouthed  man  up  yore 
way?  One  that  does  as  he's  told,  asks  no  questions, 
an'  ain't  particular  what  kind  of  a  job  it  is?  Better 

154 


An  Observant  Observer 


let  me  hold  that;  I  can  see  yo're  gettin'  tired.  Thank 
you,  sir.  I'm  desperate,  an'  I'm  hungry.  What  you 
say?  Speak  right  out — I'm  a  grand  listener." 

Ackerman  grunted.  "Huh!  I  ain't  got  nothin'  to 
say  about  hirin'  th'  men  where  I  work.  As  a  matter 
of  fact  we  ain't  got  work  enough  for  another  man. 
An'  I  reckon  you  don't  understand  nothin'  about 
farmin',  even  in  a  small  way;  but  if  yo're  hungry, 
why,  I  can  fix  that  right  soon.  Got  a  cayuse?" 

Pete  nodded  emphatically.  "  I  allus  manage  to  keep 
a  cayuse,  no  matter  how  bad  things  busts ;  a  cayuse,  my 
saddle,  an'  a  gun.  Why?" 

"  Climb  onto  it  an'  come  along  with  me.  I'm  aimin' 
to  make  camp  as  soon  as  I  run  across  water.  That's 
a  purty  good  animal  you  got." 

"Yes;  looks  good,"  grunted  Long  Pete;  "but  it 
ain't.  It's  a  deceivin'  critter.  I'm  yore  scout.  There'* 
a  crick  half  a  mile  west  of  here.  I'm  that  famished 
I'm  faint.  Just  a  little  more  an'  I'd  'a*  cooked  me  a 
square  meal  off  of  one  of  th'  yearlin's  that  wander  on 
th'  edge  of  th'  range.  That  was  what  I  was  thinkin' 
over  when  I  heard  you." 

"You  shouldn't  do  a  thing  like  that!"  exclaimed 
Ackerman  severely.  "Besides,  you  shouldn't  talk 
about  it.  An'  if  you  do  it  you'll  get  shot  or  lynched." 

"A  man  does  lots  of  things  he  shouldn't.  An'  *s 
for  talkin',  I'm  th'  most  safe  talker  you  ever  met  I 

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The  Man  from  Bar-20 


allus  know  where  I'm  talkin',  what  I'm  talkin'  about, 
an'  who  I'm  talkin'  to.  Now,  as  I  figger  it,  I'd  rather 
get  shot  or  lynched  than  starve  in  a  land  of  beef. 
What  do  I  care  about  killin'  another  man's  cows? 
I'm  plumb  sick  of  workin'  on  a  string  that  some  bull- 
headed  foreman  can  break;  an'  I'm  most  awful  sick 
of  workin'  for  wages.  /  ain't  no  hired  man,  d — n 
it !  What  I  wants  is  an  equal  share  in  what  I  earns. 
An'  you  can  believe  me,  Mister  Man,  I  ain't  noways 
particular  what  th'  work  is.  I  never  did  have  no  re- 
spect for  a  man  that  gambled  for  pennies.  No  tin- 
horn never  amounted  to  nothin'.  He  can't  lose  much ; 
but  yo're  cussed  right  he  can't  win  much,  neither.  If 
th'  stakes  are  high  an'  th'  breaks  anywhere  near  equal, 
I'll  risk  my  last  dollar  or  my  last  breath. 

"As  to  what  I  am,  you  lissen  to  me:  When  I'm 
sober  I  stays  strictly  sober,  for  months  at  a  time;  an' 
when  I'm  drunk  I  likeways  stays  drunk  for  days  at  a 
time.  I  ain't  like  some  I  knows  of,  half  drunk  most  of 
th'  time  an'  never  really  sober.  Me,  I  just  serves  no- 
tice that  I'm  goin'  off  on  a  bender,  an*  I  goes.  An' 
when  I  comes  back  I'm  sober  all  th'  way  through. 
Here's  th'  crick.  An'  I  never  get  drunk  when  there's 
work  to  be  did.  You  can  put  up  that  Colt  now  an* 
watch  me  get  a  fire  goin'  that  won't  show  a  light  for 
any  distance  or  throw  much  smoke.  I  tell  you  I  know 
my  business." 


An  Observant  Observer 


Ackerman  unpacked  and  turned  the  horses  loose  to 
graze,  and  by  the  time  he  was  ready  to  start  cooking, 
Long  Pete  had  a  fire  going  in  a  little  hollow  near  the 
water. 

"Now  you  just  set  down  an'  watch  me  cavort  an* 
prance,"  quoth  Long  Pete  pleasantly.  "  Reckon 
mebby  you  might  not  move  fast  enough  for  my  empty 
belly.  Chuck  me  that  flour  bag —  I'm  a  reg'lar  cook,  / 
am.  You  just  set  there  an*  keep  right  on  thinkin* 
about  me;  weigh  me  calm  an1  judicial." 

Ackerman  smiled,  leaned  back  against  his  saddle 
and  obeyed  his  verbose  companion,  pondering  over 
what  his  deft  guest  had  said.  He  knew  of  Long  Pete 
by  hearsay,  and  he  now  marshaled  the  knowledge  in 
slow  and  orderly  review  before  his  mind. 

The  cook  handed  him  a  pan,  a  tin  cup,  and  a  knife, 
fork,  and  spoon.  Then  he  waved  at  the  pan.  "  Take 
all  you  want  of  this  grub,  an1  take  it  now.  This  bein' 
a  one-man  outfit  I'll  eat  off  th'  cookin'  utensils  —  uten- 
sils sounds  misleading  don't  it?  —  somethin*  like  ton- 
sils or  a  disease.  Now  I  warn  you:  dig  in  deep  an' 
take  all  you  kin  eat,  for  there  won't  be  no  second 
helpin*  after  I  gets  my  holt.  Want  yore  coffee  now?" 

"Later,  I  reckon,"  smiled  Ackerman.  "You  shore 
can  cook.  Better  take  th'  cup  first  if  you  wants  yore 
coffee  now.  I'll  use  it  later." 

"  Soon  as  we  open  one  of  them  cans  I'll  have  a  cup 


Tlie  Man  from  Bar-20 


of  my  own,  an*  we're  goin'  to  open  one  tomorrow," 
grinned  Long  Pete,  opening  his  pocketknife  and  at- 
tacking the  frying  pan.  When  the  pan  had  been  cleaned 
of  the  last  morsel  Pete  emptied  the  cup,  washed  it  in 
the  creek,  refilled  it  and  handed  it  to  his  companion. 
Rolling  a  cigarette  with  one  hand,  he  lit  it,  inhaled 
deeply  and  blew  a  cloud  of  smoke  toward  the  sky. 

"  Cuss  me  if  that  don't  hit  me  plumb  center,"  he 
chuckled.  "An*  plumb  center  is  th'  place  for  it.  I'd 
ruther  eat  my  own  cookin'  in  th'  open,  than  feed  in 
th'  house  after  some  dirty  cook  got  through  messin1 
with  th'  grub.  At  first  I  thought  you  was  another 
prospector;  but  when  I  looked  close  I  saw  that  you 
didn't  have  th'  rest  of  th'  outfit.  Now  don't  you  say 
nothin'.  I  ain't  lookin'  for  no  information;  I'm  givin' 
it.  You  see,  I  shoots  off  my  mouth  regardless,  for  I'm 
a  great  talker  when  I'm  sober;  an'  tight  as  a  fresh- 
water clam  when  I'm  drunk.  A  whiskered  old  ram 
of  a  sky-pilot  once  told  me  that  I  was  th'  most  gar- 
rulous man  he'd  ever  met  up  with.  After  I  let  him 
up  he  explained  what  garrulous  means;  an'  th'  word 
sort  of  stuck  in  my  memory.  I  know  it  stuck  in  his; 
he'll  never  forget  it." 

Ackerman  coughed  up  some  coffee.  "He  won't," 
he  gasped.  "But  what  —  made  you  think — I  might 
be  prospectin' ?  " 

"Just  a  little  superstition  of  mine,"  explained  Long 


An  Observant  Observer 


Pete.  "There's  some  coffee  runnin'  down  yore  neck. 
You  never  ought  to  laugh  when  yo're  drinkin'.  Good 
thing  it  wasn't  whiskey.  Things  allus  comes  in 
bunches.  That  purty  near  allus  holds  good,  as  mcbby 
you've  noticed.  I  have.  I  saw  one  prospector,  a  cow- 
puncher  gone  loco,  hoofin'  it  in  th'  dirt  alongside  his 
loaded  cayuse.  Of  th'  two  I  thinks  most  of  th'  cayuse. 
It  was  a  black,  of  thoroughbred  strain,  steppin'  high  an' 
disdainful,  with  more  intelligence  blazin'  out  of  its  big 
eyes  than  its  master  ever  had.  So  when  I  sees  you 
ridin'  along  with  a  big  pack  I  reckoned  mebby  that 
you  must  'a'  eat  some  of  th'  same  weed  an'  had  got  th' 
same  kind  of  hallucernations.  They's  different  kinds, 
you  know.  But  this  is  once  th'  rule  fails.  There  won't 
be  no  bunch  of  prospectors,  an'  I  know  why;  but  that's 
a  secret.  There  won't  be  no  third." 

Ackerman  looked  keenly  at  him  through  narrowed 
lids,  speculating,  wondering,  puzzled.  Then  he  leaned 
back  and  yawned.  "Is  there  a  prospector  down 
here?"  he  asked  incredulously.  "  You  don't  mean  it." 

Long  Pete  coolly  looked  him  over  from  boots  to 
sombrero.  "I'm  duly  grateful  for  this  sumptious 
feed,  an'  I  know  what  is  th'  custom  when  you  breaks 
bread  with  a  man;  but  I  do  mean  it;  an'  I  don't  lie 
even  when  my  words  are  ramblin'  free.  I  reckon, 
mebby,  you  ought  to  remember  that.  We'll  sort  of 
get  along  better,  day  after  day." 

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The  Man  from  Bar-20 


"  No  offense  1  I  was  just  surprised.  Which  way  was 
th'  fool  headin'?" 

"  Mebby  I  am  a  little  too  touchy.  We  all  have  our 
faults.  He  was  headin'  th*  same  as  us  because  we're 
on  his  trail,  right  now.  I  sort  of  follered  it  here  to 
keep  my  hand  in.  You  never  can  tell  when  yo're  goin' 
to  need  th'  practice.  Our  fire  is  built  on  th'  ashes  of 
hisn.  His  fire  an'  smoke  was  well  hid,  too.  What  a 
two-gun  cow-puncher,  with  a  Tin  Cup  cayuse  like  that, 
wants  to  go  hoofin'  off  on  a  fool's  errand  for,  is  more 
than  I  can  figger  out.  But  two  heads  are  better  than 
one;  an'  a  man  hears  an  awful  lot  of  talkin'  up  in  Old 
Pop  Hayes'  place.  Queer  old  polecat,  Pop  is." 

Ackerman  stared  thoughtfully  into  the  fire  for  a  few 
moments.  Then  he  looked  squarely  and  long  into 
Pete's  placid,  unwavering  eyes,  and  what  he  saw  there 
must  have  pleased  and  piqued  him. 

"Pete,  yore  habit  of  usin'  words  reminds  me  of  a 
gravel  bed  I  once  panned.  It  was  a  big  bed  an'  I 
panned  a  terrible  lot  of  gravel;  but  you'd  'a'  been  sur- 
prised if  you  knew  how  much  gold  there  was  in  it.  I 
was  a  rich  man  until  I  hit  town."  He  waved  his  hands 
expressively.  "You've  said  a  whole  lot,  but  it  pans 
out  strong.  Anybody  that  won't  listen  to  you  is  a  fool. 
Let's  have  a  pow-wow,  without  hurtin'  any  feelin's. 
Speak  plain;  keep  cool.  What  you  say?" 

Pete  waited  until  he  rolled  another  cigarette  and 

1 60 


An  Observant  Observer 


drew  in  another  lungful  of  smoke.  Then  he  recrossed 
his  long  legs,  hitched  comfortably  against  his  saddle, 
and  nodded. 

"  Meanin'  to  swap  ideas  an*  personal  opinions,  ask 
questions  regardless,  an*  if  things  don't  come  out  like 
we'd  mebby  like  'em,  keep  our  mouths  shut  after- 
wards an*  not  hold  no  hard  feelin's  ?" 

"  Just  that,"  Ackerman  acquiesced.  "  Just  what  was 
you  aimin'  at  in  yore  talk?" 

Pete  scrutinized  the  fire.  "Well,  I  hit  what  I  was 
aimin'  at — you  allus  do  with  a  scatter  gun.  An*  for 
th'  ease  of  my  conscience,  an'  th'  rest  of  my  calloused 
soul,  let  me  confess  that  I  had  a  gun  on  you  while 
I  was  talkin'  to  you.  One  arm  was  folded  across  be- 
hind my  back  an'  a  little  old  Colt  was  squeezin'  against 
my  side  an'  th'  other  arm,  lookin'  right  at  you.  Care- 
lessness ain't  no  sin  of  mine;  I  got  enough  without  it. 
But,  shakin'  some  of  th'  gravel  out,  let's  see  what  I 
got. 

"I  wants  a  job.  It's  funny  how  many  times  I've 
wanted  a  job,  an'  then  threw  it  sprawlin'  after  I  got 
it.  Bein'  desperate,  I  was  aimin'  to  stick  you  up  an' 
take  your  outfit.  Then  when  you  got  near  an'  I 
saw  who  it  was,  I  knowed  I'd  have  to  shoot  to  kill ;  an' 
first,  too.  That's  why  I  didn't  tackle  that  other  feller, 
too.  An'  just  then  my  perverted  mind  says  two  an' 
two  is  four.  An'  it  most  generally  is.  Then  I  knowed 

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The  Man  from  Bar-20 


you  needed  me.  So  I  let  th'  gun  slip  an'  got  real 
friendly.  But,  as  I  was  sayin',  I  want  a  job.  Now  you 
pay  attention. 

"We  knows  what's  rumored  around  about  Twin 
Buttes ;  an'  we  knows  who  lives  up  there ;  an'  we  knows 
there  ain't  never  been  no  farm  products  come  out  of 
that  section.  That's  th'  biggest  mistake  you  fellers 
ever  made;  you  should  'a'  run  a  garden.  Likewise, 
we  knows  that  tin-horns  don't  gamble  with  things  that 
belong  to  other  people,  if  th'  other  people  packs  guns. 
An'  'specially  they  don't  gamble  with  no  cows  an' 
hosses.  'Tain't  popular,  an*  folks  don't  like  it.  A 
tin-horn  ain't  man  enough  to  risk  a  bullet  or  a  rope. 
Now  then,  you  just  let  me  draw  you  th'  picture  of  a 
dream  I've  often  had. 

"I  can  see  a  bunch  of  husky  cow-punchers,  among 
which  I  see  myself,  an'  we're  punchin'  cows  that  we 
never  bought.  We're  poolin'  our  winnin's  an'  sharin' 
th'  risks.  I  can  even  see  me  rustlin'  cows,  an'  there'?, 
men  with  me  that  I  could  name  if  my  memory  wasn't 
so  bad.  There's  a  big  rock  wall,  an'  a  deep,  swift 
river  that's  so  d — d  cold  it  fair  hurts.  An'  somewhere 
back  in  th'  buttes,  which  is  in  a  section  plumb  fatal  to 
strangers,  all  but  one,  is  a  little  ranch,  with  a  drive  trail 
leadin'  north  or  west.  That's  th'  dream.  Ain't  it 
h — 1  what  fool  ideas  go  trompin*  an'  rampagin' 
through  a  man's  mind  when  he's  asleep,  'specially  if 

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he  ain't  satisfied  to  work  for  wages?  Did  you  ever 
have  any?" 

Ackerman  grinned  to  hide  his  surprise.  "Yo're 
a  grand  dreamer,  Pete.  I've  had  dreams  somethin' 
like  that,  myself;  an1  so  far's  I'm  concerned  yourn  can 
come  true;  but  I  only  got  one  vote.  An*  as  I  ain't 
goin'  back  for  some  time,  I  don't  know  just  what  to 
say." 

"Not  knowin'  what  to  say  never  bothered  me,'* 
chuckled  Long  Pete.  "  I  can  talk  th'  spots  off  a  poker 
deck;  I'll  show  you  how,  some  day.  But  as  long  as 
you  mentioned  dreams,  it  reminds  me  of  another  I've 
had.  Not  long  ago,  neither.  I  saw  a  two-gun  pros- 
pector leavin'  an  unpleasant  location.  He  was  a  reg'- 
lar  two-gun  man;  a  wise  feller  could  just  see  it  a-stickin' 
out  all  over  him.  I  kept  right  on  bein'  hungry.  Then, 
quite  a  little  later  I  saw  another  man,  a  cow-puncher, 
ridin'  along  his  trail;  an'  he  had  so  much  grub  it  fair 
dazzled  me.  An'  bein'  friendly,  in  my  dream,  I  up 
an'  tells  th'  second  man  where  th'  other  feller  was 
headin'.  An'  if  th'  dream  hadn't  'a'  stopped  there  I 
could  'a'  told  him  which  way  th'  two-gun  prospector 
an'  his  black,  Tin  Cup  cayuse  went  on  th'  mornin'  fol- 
lerin'  th'  day  I  saw  him.  Funny  how  things  like  that 
will  stick  in  a  man's  memory.  An'  I've  heard  tell  that 
lots  of  people  believes  in  dreams,  too.  Seems  like  you 
only  got  to  know  how  to  figger  'cm  to  learn  a  lot  of 

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The  Man  from  Bar-20 


useful  an*  plumb  interestin'  things.  A  fortune-teller 
told  me  that.  Why,  once  I  dreamed  that  I  had  shot  a 
feller  that  had  been  pesterin'  me ;  an'  when  I  got  sober, 
d—d  if  I  hadn't,  tool" 

Ackerman  slammed  his  sombrero  on  the  ground  and 
leaned  quickly  forward  over  the  fire.  "Pete,  I  ain't 
got  much  money  with  me  —  didn't  expect  to  have  no 
call  to  use  it.  I  ain't  got  enough  for  wages  for  any 
length  of  time;  but  I've  got  grub,  plenty  of  it.  An'  if 
you  wants  to  make  that  first  dream  of  yourn  come  true, 
you  stick  to  me  an*  with  me,  come  what  may,  an'  I'll 
see  you  a  member  of  a  little  ranch  back  in  some  buttes, 
or  we'll  d — d  well  know  th'  reason  why.  We  need 
brains  up  there.  Are  you  in?  " 

"Every  d — d  chip;  from  my  hat  to  my  worn-out 
boots;  from  soda  to  hock,"  grinned  Long  Pete.  "You 
got  your  cayuse,  yore  shootin'  irons,  an'  th'  grub;  I 
got  my  cayuse,  mean  as  it  is,  my  guns,  an'  a  steady- 
workin'  appetite.  Pass  them  pans  over;  allus  like  to 
wash  things  up  as  soon  as  they've  been  used.  It'll  be 
yore  job  next  meal.  I  believe  in  equal  work.  Better 
hang  up  that  pack — there's  ants  runnin'  around  here." 

"Yo're  a  better  cook  than  me,"  said  Ackerman 
cheerfully,  as  he  obeyed.  "You  do  th'  cookin'  an' 
leave  th'  cleanin'  up  to  me.  I'd  rather  wrastle  dirty 
pans  than  eat  my  own  cookin'  any  day.  That  fair?" 

"As  a  new,  unmarked  deck,"  replied  Long  Pete  con- 


An  Observant  Observer 


tentedly.  "  An'  while  we're  talkin'  about  washin'  pans, 
I  want  to  say  that  that  two-gun  hombre  went  due  north, 
ridin'  plumb  up  th'  middle  of  this  here  crick.  An' 
since  yo're  trailin'  him,  I  reckon  he  kept  goin'  right 
on  north.  I  allus  like  to  guess  when  I  don't  know." 

"Yo're  a  d — d  good  guesser,"  grinned  Ackerman. 
"  Let's  roll  up  in  th'  blankets  early  tonight  an1  get  an 
early  start  in  th'  mornin'." 

"  Keno.  That  suits  me,  for  if  there  is  one  thing 
that  I  can  do  well,  it's  rollin'  up  in  a  blanket.  I  should 
V  been  a  cocoon." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  END  OF  A  TRAIL 

JOHNNY  ducked  down  behind  a  bowlder,  for  a 
horseman,  sharply  silhouetted  against  the  crimson 
glow  of  the  sunset,  rode  parallel  to  the  edge  of  the 
cliff;  and,  judging  from  the  way  he  was  scrutinizing 
the  ground,  he  was  looking  for  tracks.  While  he 
searched,  another  horseman  rode  from  the  north  and 
joined  him.  They  made  a  splendid  picture,  rugged, 
lean,  hard;  their  sharply-cut  profiles,  the  jaunty  set  of 
the  big  sombreros,  their  alert  and  wiry  cow-ponies, 
silhouetted  against  the  crimson  and  gold  sky;  but  to 
the  hidden  watcher  there  was  no  poetry,  no  art,  in 
the  picture,  for  to  him  it  was  a  thing  of  danger,  a 
menace.  Their  voices,  carelessly  raised,  floated  to 
him  distinctly. 

"Find  anythin'?"  asked  Ben  Gates  ironically. 

"  Just  what  I  reckoned  I'd  find,  which  was  nothin'," 
answered  Harrison.  "  Ackerman's  loco.  But  I  reckon 
it's  better  than  loafin'  around  down  below.  I  was  get- 
tin'  plumb  fed  up  on  that." 

"  It's  all  cussed  nonsense.  Nelson's  cleared  out  for 
good.  He  ain't  no  fool;  an*  there's  too  many  of  us." 

"Seen  th'  others?" 

1 66 


The  End  of  a  Trail 


"Only  when  they  left.  They  ought  to  be  ridin' 
back  purty  soon  I  reckon.  This  finishes  this  side, 
don't  it  ?" 

"Yes;  they'll  comb  th'  west  side  tomorrow;  an'  then 
take  th'  north  end.  Ridin'  in  daylight  ain't  so  bad; 
but  I  got  a  fine  chance  seein'  anythin'  at  night.  An' 
I  hope  he  has  cleared  out;  a  man  on  a  bronc  looks 
as  big  as  a  house." 

"  Don't  ride  at  all ;  lay  up  somewhere  near  th'  canyon 
trail  an'  let  him  do  th'  movin'.  But,  h — 1 !  He's  gone 
out  of  this  country." 

"That's  just  what  I  was  aimin*  to  do.  I  could 
ride  within  ten  feet  of  a  man  in  th'  dark,  with  all  th' 
cover  there  is  up  here,  an'  not  see  him.  Don't  you 
worry  about  yore  Uncle  Nat;  he's  shore  growed  up. 
But  it's  all  fool  nonsense,  just  th'  same." 

"Oh,  well;  it'll  make  things  pleasanter  down  be- 
low," grinned  Gates.  "It'll  stop  th'  arguin'.  Quig- 
ley's  gettin'  near  as  nervous  as  Ackerman.  He's  get- 
tin'  scared  of  shadows  since  Jim  laced  it  into  him. 
Well,  I'm  goin'  on;  if  I  meets  Holbrook  I'll  tell  him 
to  take  th'  south  end.  So  long." 

They  separated  and  went  their  respective  ways,  and 
while  Johnny  watched  them  he  suddenly  heard  a  mur- 
mur of  voices  below  him,  and  he  squirmed  between 
two  big  bowlders  as  the  sounds  came  nearer. 

"Well,  we've  shore  combed  this  side,"  said  one 

167 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


of  the  newcomers.  "An*  that  ends  part  of  a  fool's 
errand." 

"We  shore  have,"  grunted  another.  " An'  it  did  us 
good,  too.  We  all  have  been  gettin'  too  cussed  lazy 
for  any  account.  I  reckon  a  certain  amount  of  work 
is  th'  best  friend  a  man  has  got." 

"Mebby;  anyhow,  I  know  that  my  appetite  is 
standin'  on  its  hind  laigs  yellin'  for  help,"  laughed  the 
third.  "An*  we  have  th'  satisfaction  of  knowin'  every- 
thin'  is  all  right  out  here.  Cussed  if  I  couldn't  eat 
a  raw  skunk! " 

"  But  that  ain't  what  I'm  drivin'  at,"  said  the  first 
speaker,  his  voice  growing  fainter  as  they  rode  on.  "  I 
claims  if  he  is  workin'  for  thj  CL  he  only  has  to  get 
one  look  in  our  valley  to  tell  him  all  he  wants  to 
know.  If  he's  up  here,  or  has  been  up  here,  that  would 
be  enough.  He  wouldn't  stay  here  day  after  day 
like  a  dead  dog  in  a  well." 

As  the  words  died  out  in  the  distance  Johnny 
started  to  slip  out  from  between  the  bowlders,  when 
a  sharp  spang!  rang  out  at  a  rock  near  his  waist, 
and  a  whining  scream  soared  skyward.  An  opening 
made  by  a  split  in  the  bowlder  had  partly  revealed  his 
moving  body  to  a  pair  of  very  keen  eyes  on  the  look- 
out for  just  such  a  sign.  A  second  later  the  flat  report 
of  the  shot  cracked  against  his  ears,  but  he  was  on 
the  other  side  of  the  bowlders  and  leaping  down  the 

168 


The  End  of  a  Trail 


s\eep  hillside  when  he  heard  it.  As  he  cleared  a  big 
rock  he  landed  almost  upon  a  slinking  coyote,  which 
instantly  destroyed  distance  at  an  unbelievable  speed. 
It  shot  up  the  hill,  over  the  crest,  and  sped  like  an 
arrow  of  haze  across  the  open  table-land.  Another 
shot  rang  out  and  a  laughing  voice  shouted  greet- 
ing. 

"  Hi-yi !  Who-o-p-e-e-e !  Scoot,  you  streak  of  light-. 
ninM  Cookie's  layin'  for  you  with  nine  buckshot  in 
each  barrel.  But  I'm  a  drunk  Injun  if  you  didn't  fool 


me." 


A  peeved  voice  raised  loudly  in  the  twilight.  "  Hey  I 
D — n  you!  Look  out  where  yo're  shootinM  That 
slug  ricochetted  plumb  between  our  heads !  Ain't  you 
got  no  sense  a-tall?" 

"That's  right!  Start  kickin'I"  retorted  Gates  at 
the  top  of  his  voice.  "Didn't  you  ever  hear  a  slug 
before?  Don't  you  know  that  th'  slug  you  can  hear 
is  past  you?" 

"That  so?  How'd  you  like  to  listen  to  one  now?" 
angrily  shouted  the  objector.  "How  do  7  know  that 
th'  next  one  is  goin'  past?" 

"Ah,  go  to  h — II"  jeered  Gates.  "Little  things 
make  big  bumps  on  you,  you  sage  hen!" 

"Little  things!"  roared  a  second  voice.  "Little 
things !  Would  you  lissen  to  him  ?  It  sounded  like  a 
train  of  cars  to  me,  d — d  if  it  didn't  1" 

169 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


"Thinks  he's  treed  another  cougar,"  laughed  a  third 
voice. 

The  three  appeared  upon  the  plateau  and  rode 
toward  the  disgruntled  marksman,  their  hands  up  over 
their  heads  in  mock  anxiety  and  surrender.  Down 
from  the  north  rolled  a  swift,  rhythmic  drumming, 
and  Harrison,  eagerly  alert,  his  rifle  balanced  in  his 
hands,  slid  to  a  dusty  stop. 

"What  is  it?"  he  demanded. 

"  Reckon  it  was  Cookie's  pet  ki-yote,"  grinned 
Gates.  "There  ain't  nothin'  with  wings,  even,  can 
beat  'em.  He  just  melted." 

"  Yo're  a  d — d  fool!  "  swore  Harrison  angrily. 

"  Huh !  I  could  'a'  told  you  that  long  ago,"  ob- 
served Purdy.  "You  just  catchin'  on?" 

"  I  saw  somethin'  move,"  retorted  Gates.  "  It  slid 
past  that  crack  an'  th'  sun  caught  it  purty  fair,  so  I  let 
drive.  How  th'  devil  do  you  suppose  /  knowed  it  was 
a  ki-yote?  Think  I'm  one  of  them  mejums  an'  has 
second  sight?" 

"Never!"  chuckled  Fleming.  "People  make  mis- 
takes, but  th'  man  don't  live,  free  an'  unrestrained, 
that  would  think  you  had  second  sight.  He  might  even 
be  doubtful  about  th'  first  sight.  You  want  to  prac- 
tice second  look.  Look  twice,  pray,  an'  then  count  ten, 
Dan'l,  old  trapper." 

"He  oughta  be  penned  up  nights,"  growled  San- 

170 


The  End  of  a  Trail 


ford.  "He's  a  cussed  sight  more  dangerous  than 
a  plague." 

Another  rider  joined  them  from  the  south.  "  Dan'l 
Boone  at  it  again?"  he  asked,  grinning. 

"  He  is  I  "  snapped  Purdy. 

Harrison  quieted  his  horse.  "  You  fellers  take 
him  home  with  you,  an'  keep  him  there.  He  shoots  at 
anythin'  that  moves!  I'm  goin'  to  take  root  right 
here  till  he  gets  down  below.  Mebby  he  might  take 
me  for  somethin'  suspicious." 

"If  I'd  'a'  got  that  chicken-thief,"  placidly  re- 
marked Gates,  "I'd  'a'  slipped  it  into  Cookie's  coop 
tonight,  cussed  if  I  wouldn't!" 

14  You  keep  away  from  his  coop,"  warned  Fleming, 
with  a  solemn  shake  of  his  head.  "He's  another  that 
shoots  at  anythin'  that  moves." 

Holbrook  looked  at  Harrison.  "You  takin'  th' 
north  end  tonight?" 

"Yes;  but  I'm  stayin'  right  here  till  Davy  Crockett 
gets  down  on  th'  range.  Don't  you  move,  Frank;  he'll 
likely  blow  you  apart  if  you  do." 

"Glad  he  ain't  ridin'  in  yore  place.  Good  night, 
fellers." 

The  group  split  up  and  four  of  the  riders  rode 
toward  the  canyon  trail. 

"Take  th'  lead,  Art,"  said  Purdy.  "You  know 
that  ledge  better'n  we  do." 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


Holbrook  and  Harrison  watched  them  disappear^ 
consulted  a  few  moments  and  then  separated. 

At  the  bottom  of  the  steep  eastern  bank  of  the 
plateau,  Johnny,  a  vague  blur  in  the  fading  light,  has* 
tened  stealthily  into  the  brush.  When  assured  that 
he  was  safe  from  observation  he  swung  north  and 
made  the  best  time  possible  in  the  darkness  over  such 
ground,  eager  to  reach  his  horse,  which  was  picketed 
more  than  a  mile  away. 

"  Huh !  "  he  grunted.  "  So  they're  combin'  th'  coun- 
try an'  patrolin'.  Hereafter  an'  henceforth  I've  got 
to  play  Injun  for  all  I'm  worth.  An'  if  they  comb  th1 
west  side  tomorrow  I've  got  to  move  my  camp  at  day- 
light." 

To  the  southwest  of  the  rustlers'  ranch  Ackerman 
and  his  new  friend  had  sworn  day  after  day,  for  they 
found  no  tracks  to  follow.  After  riding  up  several 
creeks  to  their  head-waters  they  gave  up  such  careful 
searching  and  went  blindly  ahead  in  the  direction  Ack- 
erman thought  their  enemy  would  take ;  and  the  ashes 
of  dead  camp-fires  from  time  to  time  told  them  that 
they  had  decided  right. 

At  last  they  came  to  a  point  due  west  of  the  little 
valley  of  the  burned  cabin,  and  Ackerman  did  not 
choose  to  pass  the  stream  which  flowed  from  that  di- 
rection. As  the  day  was  about  done  they  camped  on 
the  bank  of  the  little  tributary  and  planned  the  next 

172 


The  End  of  a  Trail 


day's  work.  Arising  early  the  following  morning  Ack- 
erman  divided  the  supplies  and  gave  part  of  them  to 
Long  Pete. 

"Well,"  he  said,  smiling  grimly;  "here's  where  we 
separate.  We're  north  of  Twin  Buttes,  an'  that  means 
we  are  about  even  with  th'  south  end  of  our  ranch. 
He  could  'a*  turned  off  any  place  from  here  on  be- 
cause when  he  got  this  far  he  had  just  about  arrived. 

"Now  I  reckon  I  better  keep  on  follerin'  th'  big 
creek,  for  I  got  a  feelin'  that  I  know  purty  well  just 
about  where  he's  located.  But  we  can't  overlook  no 
bets.  You  foller  this  crick  to  th'  end,  or  till  you  see 
where  he  left  it.  An'  you  meet  me  tonight,  if  you  can, 
at  th'  south  end  of  that  big  butte  up  there,  th'  one 
with  th'  humpback. 

"  I've  told  you  he's  dangerous,  chain-lightnin'  with 
his  guns;  an'  I'm  tellin'  you  now  to  make  shore  you 
won't  forget  it.  If  you  run  across  him,  shoot  first,  as 
soon  as  you  see  him.  You  can't  beat  him  on  th'  draw; 
an'  while  I  don't  like  to  shoot  a  man  that  way,  I'm 
swallerin'  my  pride  in  this  case  because  he's  a  spy,  or 
else  he'd  never  ride  up  th'  cricks  for  forty  miles.  I 
never  heard  of  anybody  bein'  so  cautious  an'  patient  all 
th'  time.  We  got  to  get  him;  if  we  don't  there'll  be 
h — 1  to  pay." 

"  Don't  you  get  no  gray  hair  about  me,"  growled 
Long  Pete.  "  I  know  what  it  means,  d — n  him!  "  A 

173 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


smile  flitted  across  his  face.  "  But  I  shore  has  to  laugh 
at  th'  son-of-a-gun !  An*  me  thinkin'  he  was  a  prospec- 
tor, an'  loco!  I'd  feel  ashamed  of  myself  if  I  really 
did  think  he  was  a  prospector.  You  see,  I've  seen 
prospectors  before.  You  mustn't  mind  me  makin'  a 
break  like  that  once  in  a  while;  I've  had  to  fool  so 
many  folks  I  can't  sort  of  get  my  bearin's  now.  I'd  be 
prouder  of  gettin'  a  man  like  him  than  anythin'  I  ever 
done.  Did  you  gimme  plenty  of  grub?  All  right;  I'm 
movin'  on  now.  So  long." 

"So  long;  an'  good  luck,"  replied  Ackerman,  go- 
ing  north  along  the  creek. 

Long  Pete  rode  carefully  up  his  own  watery  way, 
thoroughly  alert  and  closely  scrutinizing  both  banks. 

"  Settin'  on  a  cayuse,  out  here,  don't  set  well  on  my 
stummick,"  he  muttered  uneasily.  "I'd  mebby  be 
more  prominent  cavortin'  around  on  a  mountain  top, 
or  ridin'  upside  down  on  th'  under  side  of  a  cloud,  but 
I  ain't  hankerin'  after  no  prominence.  Nope;  I'm  a 
shrinkin*  wiolet.  An'  splash!  splash!  says  th'  bronc. 
Splash!  splash!  reg'lar  as  a  watch,  for  th'  whole  wide 
world  to  hear,  observe,  an'  think  about.  Long  Pete, 
yo're  a  fool.  Long  Pete,  yo're  several,  all  kinds  of 
fools.  What  you  should  oughta  do  is  picket  th'  bronc 
an'  perceed  with  more  caution,  on  yore  belly  like  a 
silent  worm,  or  at  least  on  yore  kneecaps  an'  han's, 
like  a — like  a  —  a  —  who  th1  h — 1  cares  what?  Day 

174 


The  End  of  a  Trail 


after  day  we  been  temptin'  Providence.  *  Hurry  up ! ' 
says  he.  4  Hurry  be  d — d !  '  thought  I.  But  we  hurried. 
Yes  sir.  But  it  must  be  did.  D — n  th'  must.  All  my 
sinful  life  there  was  a  must  or  a  mustn't.  It's  a  must-y 
world.  He-he!  That  ain't  a  bad  one,  or  I'm  a  liar  I 

"All  serene.  Both  banks  lovely.  Lush  grass  an' 
mosquitoes  an'  flies.  Splash!  Splash!  A>r-splash! 
X^r-splash !  Slop  inter  it,  bronc.  Don't  mind  my 
stummick.  Keep  lungin'  on,  pluggin'  right  ahead,  stub- 
born as  th'  workin's  of  hell.  Long  Pete!  Long  Pete! 
Ker-splash!  Here's  Long  Pete!  Tell  him,  bronc; 
grease  th'  chute  for  yore  boss.  Even  th'  frogs  got 
more  sense;  they  shut  up  when  they  hears  us.  It's  a 
gamble,  bronc;  a  toss-up.  Our  friend,  Mr.  James 
Ackerman,  says:  'Here,  Long  Pete.  We  done 
reached  th'  partin'  of  th'  ways.  He  could  'a'  left  th' 
crick  any  place,  now.  Over  east  yonder  is  where  he 
was  burned  out.  You  take  that  way,  an'  I'll  go  on 
north  where  I  reckon  I  know  mebby  where  he  oughta 
be.'  That's  what  he  said,  bronc.  But  what  he  kept  a 
damp,  dark,  deep  secret  was:  'But  I  know  he  ain't. 
He's  east,  where  he  knows  th'  lay  of  th'  land.  Where 
he  feels  at  home.  An'  anyhow,  Long  Pete,  you  know 
too  d — d  much  about  our  affairs.'  He's  a  friend  of  ours, 
bronc;  we  know  that — but  he's  a  better  friend  of  his- 
self. 

uWe  must  watch  both  banks,  bronc;  watch  'em 

175 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


close.  All  right;  but  this  time  we'll  just  bust  h — 1 
out  of  Mr.  Must.  We'll  square  up,  right  now,  for  th' 
way  Mr.  Must  has  horned  inter  our  affairs  all  our  fool 
life.  Come  on ;  get  out  of  this !  That's  right.  Now 
you  stand  there  an'  drip.  I'm  going  to  travel  humble 
an'  quiet.  I  don't  want  no  fife  an'  drum  to  lead  me  to 
war;  no  ma'am;  not  a-tall." 

Long  Pete's  low,  muttered  chatter  ceased  as  he 
wriggled  through  the  cover.  Minutes  passed  as  he 
went  ahead,  glancing  continually  at  the  banks  of  the 
small  creek  for  the  telltale  signs.  He  wormed  around 
some  scattered  bowlders  and  came  to  the  edge  of  a 
small,  rock-floored  clearing,  where  he  paused. 

A  movement  half-way  up  on  a  mesa  close  by  caught 
his  eye,  and  he  backed  over  his  trail,  wriggled  around 
the  little  clearing  and  began  to  stalk  that  particular 
mesa  ledge.  Yard  after  yard  was  put  behind  him, 
nearer  and  nearer  he  approached  the  ledge  and  a  nest 
of  bowlders  three  hundred  yards  from  it.  The  bowl- 
ders were  his  objective,  for,  once  among  them,  he 
would  have  the  view  he  wished.  Leading  to  them  was 
a  brush-covered  ridge  and  toward  this  he  cautiously 
advanced,  rifle  at  the  ready  and  every  sense  alert.  But 
he  never  reached  it. 

Behind  him  and  two  hundred  yards  to  his  right  a 
man  slowly  arose  from  behind  a  rock  and,  resting  a 
rifle  on  the  bulwark,  took  slow  and  careful  aim  at  the 

176 


The  End  of  a  Trail 


gray  shirt  crawling  close  to  the  ridge.  There  was  a 
flash,  a  puff  of  smoke,  a  sharp  report.  Pete,  a  look  of 
great  surprise  on  his  face,  tried  to  rise  and  turn  to  pay 
his  debt,  crumpled  suddenly  and  lay  inert,  sprawled 
grotesquely  on  the  ground. 

The  man  behind  the  rock  mechanically  reloaded  and 
walked  slowly  toward  his  victim,  waving  his  sombrero 
in  a  short  arc.  On  his  face  was  an  expression  of  tri- 
umphant joy.  Up  on  the  ledge  of  the  mesa  wall  an- 
other man  arose,  acknowledged  the  signal  and  began 
to  climb  down  the  wall  as  hurriedly  as  safety  would 
permit.  When  he  reached  the  prostrate  figure  he 
found  the  successful  marksman  standing  like  a  man 
in  a  trance,  a  look  of  blank  wonderment  on  his  face, 
his  lower  jaw  sagging  loosely. 

"Good  for  you!"  said  the  man  from  above;  and 
then  he  paused.  "What's  th'  matter?"  A  ghastly 
suspicion  flashed  into  his  mind  and  he  leaped  forward  to 
see  who  the  victim  was.  He  arose  relieved,  but  as  sur- 
prised as  his  companion.  "  Lord!  I  was  scared  you'd 
got  one  of  th'  boys,  from  th'  way  you  looked!  Who 
th'  devil  is  this  feller?  An'  what's  he  doin'  up  here? 
I've  seen  him  before;  who  th'  devil  is  he?" 

The  other  drew  a  long  breath.  "It's  Long  Pete, 
of  th'  Circle  S;  but  what  he's  doin'  up  here  is  past  me. 
Look  at  his  shirt,  his  hat,  an'  say  he  don't  look  like 
Nelson  from  th'  back!  He  only  wears  one  gun,  but  I 

177 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


couldn't  see  that;  th'  grass  an'  brush  hid  it.  But,  just 
th'  same,  he  was  stalkin'  you!  If  you'd  'a'  shoved 
up  yore  head,  he'd  'a'  drilled  it,  shore!" 

"But  why  should  he  stalk  me?"  demanded  Harri- 
son. "He  didn't  have  no  business  up  here;  he  didn't 
have  no  reason  to  sneak  along,  an'  he  didn't  have  no 
call  to  stalk  me!  Say!  Mebby  he's  throwed  in  with 
Nelson!  If  he  has,  mebby  his  outfit  has  throwed  in, 
too!  Mebby  they're  up  here  strong,  an'  closin'  in 
from  all  directions,  for  a  show-down !  We  better  warn 
th'  boys,  an'  get  back  to  Quigley;  an'  d — d  quick!" 

"Go  ahead,"  said  Gates.  "I'll  get  his  cayuse  an' 
f oiler  close.  Where's  Art  an'  Frank?" 

"They  went  on  north  —  I'm  off  after  'em,"  snapped 
Harrison.  "Let  his  cayuse  be.  You  hot-foot  it  to 
Quigley!" 

"  Come  on !  "  growled  Gates,  wheeling.  "  They  may 
be  on  both  sides  of  th'  ranch ! " 

Jim  Ackerman,  riding  slowly  along  the  bank  of  the 
main  creek,  saw  everything  that  could  be  seen  by  a 
man  with  keen  eyes;  and  he  felt  nervous.  There  was 
cover  all  about  him,  good  cover;  and  any  of  it  might 
be  sheltering  the  man  he  was  hunting.  There  was  no 
sense  for  him  to  ride  along  the  bank,  an  inviting  tar- 
get that  a  boy  hardly  could  miss ;  there  was  no  sense  in 
riding  at  all ;  so  he  picketed  his  horse  and  went  ahead 
on  foot. 

178 


The  End  of  a  Trail 


Gaining  Humpback  Butte,  the  meeting  place  he  had 
mentioned  to  Long  Pete,  he  worked  along  its  eastern 
base,  noiselessly,  cautiously,  alertly;  and  he  stopped 
suddenly  as  he  caught  sight  of  the  ashes  of  a  dead  fire; 
stopped  and  looked  and  listened  and  sniffed.  It  did 
not  smell  like  a  fire  that  had  been  dead  very  long,  he 
thought;  and  then  a  playful  little  whirlwind,  simulat- 
ing ferocity,  spun  across  the  partly  covered  ashes  and 
caught  up  a  bit  of  charcoal  which  glowed  suddenly  as 
if  winking  about  what  it  knew  and  could  tell. 

Ackerman  flitted  back  into  the  brush  and  when  he 
again  reached  the  side  of  the  butte  he  was  north  of 
the  camp,  and  had  viewed  it  from  all  angles.  Paus- 
ing for  a  moment  he  started  back  again,  on  a  longer 
radius,  and  soon  found  Pepper's  newly  made  tracks 
in  a  moist  patch  of  sand,  and  hurried  along  the  trail 
until  he  saw  where  it  entered  the  creek.  No  need  for 
him  to  wonder  which  way  the  submerged  and  oblit- 
erated trail  led;  for  it  must  lead  north.  Otherwise  he 
would  have  met  his  enemy.  Swearing  in  sudden  ex- 
ultation he  whirled  and  ran  at  top  speed  to  gain  his 
horse. 

Ackerman  knew  Humpback  Butte  and  its  surround- 
ing valley  and  canyons  as  he  knew  the  QE  ranch, 
for  he  had  spent  days  hunting  all  over  that  country; 
and  he  knew  that  the  great  slopes  of  the  valley  grew 
steadily  steeper  as  they  reached  northward  until  they 

179 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


became  sheer  cliffs  without  a  single  way  up  their  walls 
that  a  horse  could  master.  A  mile  above  Humpback 
Butte  the  walls  curved  inward  until  only  a  scant  six 
hundred  yards  lay  between  them;  and  on  the  south- 
ern side  of  the  eastern  cliff,  which  jutted  out  into  the 
valley,  hidden  behind  an  out-thrust  point,  was  a  nar- 
row canyon  leading  into  the  valley  which  formed  the 
northwestern  outlet  of  the  QE  ranch.  For  nearly  five 
miles  north  of  Humpback  Butte  extended  the  valley, 
now  a  great,  wide  canyon;  and  not  one  of  the  several 
blind  canyons  in  its  great  walls  gave  a  way  out.  Any- 
one passing  the  hidden  canyon  would  hunt  in  vain  for 
an  exit  and  have  to  return  again. 

Reaching  his  horse,  Ackerman  mounted  and  rode 
north  at  top  speed,  guiding  the  animal  over  grass  as 
he  threaded  his  way  in  and  out  among  the  obstruc- 
tions. Speed  was  the  pressing  need  now,  for  if  he 
could  gain  the  hidden  canyon  before  his  enemy  found 
it  on  his  return,  he  had  him  trapped.  There  was  an 
up-thrust  mass  of  rock,  covered  with  brush  and  scrub 
timber,  which  lay  before  the  entrance  of  the  canyon; 
once  up  on  that  he  could  command  both  the  canyon 
and  the  valley,  the  greatest  range  not  over  five  hun- 
dred yards. 

Dismounting  in  a  thicket  close  to  the  entrance,  he 
slipped  to  the  canyon  and  looked  for  tracks.  Find- 
ing none  he  clambered  up  on  the  mass  of  rock  and 

1*0 


The  End  of  a  Trail 


searched  the  valley  for  sight  of  Nelson.  For  a  quar- 
ter of  a  mile  he  could  follow  the  winding  creek  and 
he  watched  for  a  few  minutes,  studying  the  whole 
width  of  the  valley. 

"I've  beat  him;  an'  he  ain't  come  back  yet,"  he 
chuckled  grimly.  "I  got  five  minutes  to  look  in  th* 
canyon  an'  be  dead  shore  I  " 

For  a  hundred  yards  the  little  creek  flowed  along 
the  north  wall  of  the  canyon  and  he  wasted  no  time  on 
it;  any  man  who  would  ride  for  forty  miles  in  creeks 
would  not  forsake  the  water  for  a  mere  hundred  yards. 
Running  at  top  speed  he  dashed  around  a  bend,  eager 
for  what  he  would  find.  There  was  a  six-foot  drop  in 
the  bottom  of  the  canyon,  and  a  small  waterfall,  where 
a  rider  would  be  forced  to  forsake  the  creek  to  climb 
the  ridge.  A  quick  glance  at  a  wide  belt  of  sand  run- 
ning out  from  the  ledge  at  a  place  where  it  had  crum- 
bled into  a  steep  slope  told  him  that  no  one  had  passed 
that  way,  and  he  wheeled  and  ran  back  to  gain  the 
great  pile  of  rock  outside. 

"Got  you!"  he  panted  triumphantly.  "Yo're  a 
clever  man,  Mr.  Nelson;  but  you  can't  beat  a  stacked 
deck.  Here's  where  I  pay  for  a  certain  day  in  Hast- 
ings!" 

As  he  reached  the  mouth  of  the  canyon  he  heard  a 
crashing  in  the  brush  near  where  he  had  left  his  horse 
and  he  dove  into  cover  like  a  frightened  rabbit.  Th$ 

181 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


crashing  continued  and  then  he  heard  the  animal  tear- 
ing off  leaves,  and  the  swish  of  the  released  branches. 
As  he  slipped  forward,  cursing  under  his  breath,  the 
horse  emerged  and  walked  slowly  up  on  a  ridge,  where 
it  paused  to  look  calmly  around. 

"  D — n  you !  "  raged  Ackerman,  leaping  forward. 
"I'll  learn  you  to  stay  where  I  put  you!  H — 1  of  a 
cow-pony  you  are !  " 

Grabbing  the  reins  he  kicked  the  horse  on  the  ribs 
and  dragged  it  back  into  the  thicket,  where  he  tied 
it  short  to  a  tree.  As  soon  as  the  knots  were  drawn 
tight  he  scurried  along  the  ridge,  slipped  through  a 
clump  of  scattered  brush  and  climbed  frantically  up 
the  side  of  the  mass  of  rock.  A  swift  glance  about 
reassured  him,  and,  settling  behind  a  rock,  he  patted 
his  rifle  and  softly  laughed. 

An  hour  passed,  and  then  suddenly  he  heard  a 
plunging  in  the  thicket  below  him.  Pivoting  like  a 
flash,  he  faced  about  and  threw  himself  flat  on  the 
ground,  his  rifle  cuddled  against  his  cheek.  To  his 
utter  amazement  his  own  horse  walked  into  view  again, 
the  broken  reins  dangling  and  dragging  along  the 
ground.  A  gust  of  rage  swept  over  him  and  he  came 
within  a  hair  of  shooting  the  animal;  only  the  need 
for  silence  kept  his  tightening  trigger-finger  from  press- 
ing that  last  hundredth  of  an  inch.  White  with  rage, 
choking  with  curses,  he  writfied  behind  his  breastwork, 

182 


The  End  of  a  Trail 


for  the  horse  was  on  the  ridge  again,  a  bold,  skyline 
target  for  any  eye  within  a  mile. 

"Th'  journey  home  will  be  yore  last!"  he  gritted 
furiously,  slipping  down  the  steep  incline  as  rapidly  as 
he  dared.  "  We'll  see  if  you  can  bust  my  rope,  doubled 
twice !  If  you  strain  at  th'  rig  7'm  goin'  to  fix,  you'll 
choke  yoreself  to  death,  d — n  you !  " 

Driving  it  back  into  the  thicket  he  fastened  it  to  a 
sapling  with  the  lariat,  doubled  twice;  and  the  noose 
around  the  animal's  neck  was  a  cleverly  tied  slip- 
knot. 

"Now,  d — n  you!"  he  blazed,  kicking  the  horse 
savagely.  "Take  that,  an'  that,  an'  that!" 

Reaching  up  to  readjust  the  rope  he  suddenly  froze 
in  his  tracks  as  a  crisp  voice  hailed  him. 

"Keep  'em  up!"  said  Johnny,  stepping  into  view. 
"Turn  around — keep  'em  up!" 

Cool  as  ice  and  perfectly  composed,  Ackerman 
slowly  obeyed  and  scowled  into  the  muzzle  of  a  leveled 
Colt,  waiting  for  his  chance. 

"A  man  that  treats  a  cayuse  like  that  ain't  hardly 
worth  a  bullet,"  said  Johnny.  "  If  you'd  'a*  looked 
at  them  reins  you'd  'a'  seen  th'  knife-pricks." 

Ackerman  smiled  grimly  with  understanding,  but 
made  no  answer. 

"Sorry  that  human  ramrod  ain't  with  you,"  con- 
tinued Johnny.  "  If  I'd  knowed  he  was  a  friend  of 

183 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


yourn  I'd  V  stopped  him  cold  down  south  of  Hast- 
ings." 

Ackerman  scowled.  "Talk's  cheap.  Th'  man  with 
th'  drop  can  find  a  lot  to  say,  if  he's  a  tin-horn." 

Johnny  slipped  the  Colt  into  its  holster  and  slowly 
raised  his  hands  even  with  his  shoulders.  "  I  want  you 
to  have  an  even  break,"  he  muttered.  "  But  I  ain't 
goin'  to  stay  here  till  that  Circle  S  puncher  blunders 
onto  us.  I'll  wait  one  minute.  It's  yore  play." 

"  I've  been  waitin'  for  a  cnance  like  this,"  said  Ack- 
erman. "Remember  how  you  kicked  me?  I  allus 
pay  my  debts.  Th'  next  time--"  He  sprang  aside 
with  pantherish  speed  and  the  heavy  Colt  glinted  as  it 
leaped  from  his  holster  and  flashed  in  an  eye-baffling 
arc.  A  spurt  of  flame  flashed  from  his  hip  and  a  roll- 
ing cloud  of  smoke  half  hid  him  as  he  pitched  forward 
on  his  face. 

Johnny  staggered  and  stepped  back  out  of  the  smoke- 
cloud  which  swirled  around  him  and  fogged  his  vision, 
A  trickle  of  blood  oozed  down  his  cheek  and  gath- 
ered in  his  three-days  beard.  Peering  at  the  huddled 
figure,  he  pushed  his  gun  back  into  its  holster  and 
wiped  the  blood  from  his  face. 

"  There  ain't  many  as  good  as  you  with  a  gun,  Ack% 
erman,"  he  muttered.  "Well,  I  got  to  get  out  of  here. 
Them  shots  will  shore  call  some  of  th'  others ;  an1  I'd 
rather  let  'em  guess  than  know." 


The  End  of  a  Trail 


He  sprinted  to  Ackerman's  horse,  released  it  and 
stripped  it  of  saddle  and  bridle,  turning  it  loose  to  free- 
dom and  good  grass;  and  then,  slinging  the  pack  of 
supplies  on  his  back,  hastened  to  his  own  horse  and 
rode  away. 

All  day  long  Pepper  moved  ahead  as  fast  as  the 
country  would  permit,  first  north,  then  east,  and  finally 
south;  and  when  she  was  stopped  in  mid-afternoon  she 
was  under  the  frowning  wall  of  the  southern  Twin, 
three  miles  east  of  Quigley's  stone  houses  and  less 
than  half  a  mile  from  the  trail  used  by  the  rustlers 
when  they  rode  abroad. 

The  very  audacity  of  his  choice  of  a  camp  site 
tended  to  make  it  secure;  and  it  was  in  the  section 
combed  by  the  rustlers  only  the  day  before;  it  was 
under  the  most  prominent  landmark  for  miles  around 
and  practically  under  the  nose  of  the  QE  outfit.  His 
camp-fire  and  its  almost  invisible  streamer  of  smoke 
from  carefully  selected  dry  wood  was  screened  on  the 
south  and  east  by  the  great  side  of  the  southern  Twin, 
and  on  the  north  and  west  by  the  bulk  of  the  northern 
Twin;  and  by  the  time  the  filmy  vapor  reached  the 
tops  of  those  towering  walls  it  would  have  become 
as  invisible  as  the  air  of  which  it  was  a  part.  And  be- 
cause of  the  tumbled  chaos  of  rock,  ridge,  arroyos, 
bowlders,  shrubs,  and  trees,  the  little  tent  easily  could 
be  overlooked  by  anyone  passing  within  twenty  feet. 

185 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


It  had  been  his  intention  the  day  before  to  watch 
that  out-bound  trail  in  hope  of  following  the  next  raid- 
ing party  and  learning  what  Logan  wanted  to  know; 
but  now  he  was  forced  to  change  his  plans. 

"All  right,"  he  muttered  as  he  finished  putting  the 
new  camp  to  rights.  "  As  long  as  you  know  I'm  here, 
an'  are  huntin*  me  down,  it's  time  I  showed  my  teeth. 
I'm  goin'  gunnin':  it's  a  game  two  can  play." 

Having  had  his  supper  and  lashed  a  small  pack  of 
food  and  ammunition  on  his  back,  he  led  Pepper  far- 
ther down  the  chasm  between  the  two  buttes  and  let 
her  graze  where  she  pleased,  knowing  that  she  would 
not  stray  far.  Then  he  plunged  into  the  tangled  cover 
and  headed  toward  the  entrance  canyon  of  the  QE 
ranch. 


186 


CHAPTER  XV 

BLINDMAN'S  BUFF 

/T  WAS  nearly  dark  when  he  came  to  the  long  slope 
JL  leading  to  the  plateau  behind  the  QE  ranch-houses 
and  he  went  on  with  infinite  caution,  at  last  looking 
down  upon  the  buildings,  which  showed  no  lights. 

Had  they  gone  on  another  raid  and  had  he  missed 
the  opportunity  of  trailing  them?  He  shook  his  head* 
There  would  be  no  more  raids  until  they  were  sure 
that  !io  one  was  watching  them.  Suddenly  he  grinned. 
The  Circle  S  puncher,  when  last  seen,  was  going 
straight  toward  the  ranch-houses.  It  was  simple  now. 
Having  been  told  all  that  the  Circle  S  man  knew,  they 
knew  that  only  one  man  was  watching  them  and  would 
plan  accordingly. 

"Layin'  low  an*  settin'  traps  for  me,"  he  grunted. 
"Bet  th'  three  canyons  are  guarded — an*  that  trail 
down  th'  blind  canyon  farther  along  this  wall.  That's 
th'  easiest  for  me,  so  I'll  slip  up  there  an'  look  around; 
but  first  I'll  take  a  look  down  in  th'  main  canyon." 

A  short  time  later  he  peered  over  the  rim  of  the 
chasm  and  chuckled,  for  a  small  fire,  cunningly  placed 
so  as  not  to  shine  in  the  eyes  of  anyone  in  the  houses, 
burned  at  the  base  of  the  great  wall  and  made  suffi- 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


cient  light  to  show  a  watching  marksman  every  rock 
and  hollow  across  that  part  of  the  canyon. 

"They  can  set  in  th'  house  at  a  loophole  an'  keep  a 
good  watch,"  he  muttered.  "There  ain't  a  man  livin' 
could  cross  that  patch  of  light.  An'  if  they're  guardin* 
one  end  they're  guardin'  th'  others  —  an'  I'll  exchange 
compliments  with  one  bunch." 

Squirming  back  from  the  edge  he  started  north,  and 
he  stopped  only  when  the  plashing  of  water  told  him 
that  he  was  near  his  objective. 

"  If  7  was  watchin'  that  trail  I'd  stay  down  below," 
he  thought.  "  It  would  be  near  th'  narrowest  part  of 
the  ledge  an'  where  nobody  could  shoot  down  on  me. 
I  know  th'  place,  too;  glad  I  learned  th'  lay  of  th'  land 
around  this  sink." 

He  crept  forward  confidently,  his  rifle  strapped 
across  his  back,  for  he  decided  to  depend  on  his  Colts. 
Reaching  the  head  of  the  trail  he  dropped  to  all  fours 
and  crept  onto  it;  instantly  a  flash  split  the  darkness 
ten  feet  below  him,  the  bullet  ripping  through  his  som- 
brero. He  did  not  reply,  but  wriggled  against  the 
base  of  the  wall,  where  an  out-cropping  stratum  of  rock 
gave  him  shelter.  As  he  settled  down  he  heard  a 
sound  above  him  and  a  pebble  clicked  at  his  side  and 
bounced  out  into  the  chasm. 

Here  was  a  pleasant  situation,  he  thought.  They 
were  guarding  the  top  of  the  trail  when  they  should 

188 


Blindman's  Buff 


have  been  guarding  the  bottom.  There  was  an  out- 
law below  him  and  another  above  him,  and  at  the 
first  streak  of  dawn  he  would  find  himself  in  a  bad  fix. 
Glancing  up  at  the  sky  he  saw  that  the  ledge  protected 
him  from  the  man  above;  but  it  would  take  the  man 
above  only  half  an  hour  to  run  back  along  the  can- 
yon, round  its  upper  end  and  appear,  ready  for  busi- 
ness, on  the  farther  side,  in  which  case  a  certain  mem- 
ber of  the  CL  outfit  would  be  neatly  picked  off  at  the 
first  blush  of  daylight. 

"  I  was  hell-bent  to  get  down  here,"  he  soliloquized 
in  great  disgust;  "an1  now  I'm  hell-bent  to  get  back 
again.  What  business  have  they  got  to  watch  this 
end?" 

He  looked  back  up  the  trail  and  could  see  noth- 
ing. Then  he  held  out  his  hand  and  could  not  see 
that  uThat  fool  didn't  see  me;  he  heard  me!  I'm 
glad  I  didn't  shoot  back.  He'll  wait  a  while,  doubt 
his  ears  an'  think  mebby  that  he's  loco." 

But  Ben  Gates,  firing  on  a  guess,  thought  he  saw 
what  he  fired  at  when  the  flash  of  his  gun  lit  up  the 
trail  in  front  of  him.  True,  the  smoke  interfered; 
but  Gates  was  backing  both  his  eyes  and  his  ears. 

Johnny  waited  half  an  hour,  and  then  grew  anxious. 
His  enemies  were  not  doing  anything,  but  appeared 
to  be  copying  the  patience  of  the  noble  red  men,  and 
waiting  for  dawn. 

189 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


"Cuss  th'  dawn!"  mused  Johnny  fretfully.  "If 
th'  feller  below  still  thinks  he  heard  me,  th'  feller  up 
above  may  get  dubious  an'  reckon  his  friend  pulled  at 
nothin' ;  an'  he's  th'  man  I  got  to  gamble  with  an'  th' 
sooner  th'  better." 

He  wriggled  backward  an  inch  at  a  time  until  he 
had  gained  a  few  yards  and  then  he  softly  turned 
around.  Another  pebble  fell  on  the  ledge  close  to 
the  place  he  had  just  evacuated.  The  instant  he  heard 
it  he  moved  a  little  more  rapidly  because  he  was  now 
east  of  the  man  above.  A  soft  shuffle  came  to  his 
ears  and  he  swore  under  his  breath  when  the  sounds 
stopped  at  the  head  of  the  trail.  The  man  above  was 
now  east  of  him,  and  painfully  alert. 

Slowly  arising,  Johnny  hugged  the  wall  and  felt 
it  over  carefully.  There  were  knobs  and  slight  foot- 
holds and  small  cracks  in  it,  and  he  took  the  only  way 
open  to  him,  desperate  as  it  was.  He  judged  the  rim 
to  be  thirty  feet  above  him,  and  setting  his  jaws  he 
started  to  climb  it.  The  shuffling  again  was  heard  and 
it  now  passed  to  the  west  of  him. 

"  Cuss  him ! "  gritted  Johnny.  "  He  acts  like  he 
don't  know  what  to  do  with  hisself.  Why  th'  devil 
can't  he  stay  where  he  belongs?" 

Stepping  back  on  the  trail  again  Johnny  stooped 
over  and  ran  silently  toward  its  upper  end,  thankful 
that  he  was  wearing  moccasins ;  and  he  had  come  within 

190 


Blindman's  Buff 


ten  feet  of  it  when  the  shuffling  sound  again  passed 
him,  eastward  bound. 

"There!"  grumbled  Johnny.  "I  knowed  it.  He 
acts  like  a  bobcat  in  a  cage.  All  right,  d — n  you !  I'll 
give  you  some  music  to  shuffle  to !  " 

Finding  several  pebbles,  he  threw  them,  one  at  a 
time,  over  the  rim  and  about  over  the  place  where  he 
had  found  shelter.  A  muttered  expletive  came  from 
above  and  the  shuffling  went  rapidly  toward  the  sounds. 
Below  him  on  the  trail  he  heard  a  slight  stir,  but  ig- 
nored it  as  he  sprinted  up  the  trail,  silent  as  a  ghost, 
and  gained  the  shelter  of  a  bowlder.  Here  he  waited, 
grim  and  relentless,  for  the  sentry's  return. 

Shuffle  Foot  was  peeved,  and  cared  not  a  whit  who 
knew  it.  Just  because  he  was  hitched  to  a  fool  was 
no  reason  why  he  should  endure  asinine  practical  jok- 
ing; so  he  peered  over  the  canyon's  rim  and  spoke 
softly: 

"What  th'  h— 1  do  you  think  yo're  doin'?" 

The  silence  below  was  unbroken;  but  the  astonished 
Mr.  Gates  longed  passionately  for  the  power  of 
thought  transmission.  It  was  all  right  for  Nat  Har- 
rison to  go  wandering  around  and  braying  like  a  jack- 
ass ;  he  wasn't  lying  almost  nose  to  nose  with  the  most 
capable  two-gun  man  that  had  ever  cursed  the  Twin 
Buttes  country. 

44  'Sleep  ?  "  queried  Harrison.  "  What  did  you  shoot 

191 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


at;  'nother  ki-yote?"  Receiving  no  answer  he  became 
exasperated.  "If  it  was  anybody  but  you  I'd  pay 
some  attention  to  it.  First  you  shoots  a  cougar  out  of 
a  tree  when  we're  all  holdin'  our  breath  to  keep  quiet. 
Then  you  let  drive  at  a  measly  ki-yote,  which  you 
opined  was  a  he-man.  Next  you  plugs  Long  Pete, 
thinkin'  he  was  Nelson.  An'  now  what  do  you  think 
you  see?  If  I  poke  my  head  out  far  enough,  even 
though  I'm  talkin'  to  you,  I'll  bet  you'd  let  loose  at  it, 
thinkin'  th'  Lord  only  knows  what.  Why  don't  you 
say  something?  Do  you  think  we're  playin'  some 
kid's  game,  where  th'  feller  that  keeps  still  longest 
gets  th'  apple?  Did  you  make  that  noise?" 

Gates  writhed  in  impotent  rage;  but  he  suffered  ift 
silence,  which  only  increased  the  pressure  of  his  anger. 

"Mebby  you  done  shot  yoreself,"  suggested  Har* 
rison  hopefully.  "  Didn't  see  somethin'  down  by  yore 
feet,  an'  shoot  off  yore  toes,  did  you?  What's  th' 
matter  with  yore  mouth?  You  can  use  it  enough,  th1 
Lord  knows  when  nobody  wants  to  hear  it.  Say 
somethin',  you  locoed  polecat." 

The  pause  was  fruitless,  and  he  continued,  cheer, 
fully: 

"  Mebby  he's  clubbed  you  again,"  he  said. 
"  Clubbed  yore  stone  head  with  th'  butt  of  his  gun  an* 
gagged  you  with  yore  own  handkerchief;  yore  very 
much-soiled  handkerchief.  But  I  hardly  reckon  he  did, 

192 


Blindman's  Buff 


because  any  blow  heavy  enough  to  send  a  shock  through 
that  head  of  yourn  would  V  been  heard  at  th'  houses, 
an*  I  didn't  hear  nothin'  like  that.  Coin'  to  say  some- 
thin'?" 

Harrison  chuckled,  and  tried  again:  "Well,  if  you 
ain't  talkin'  I'll  bet  yo're  thinkin'.  Bet  yo're  wishin* 
I'd  find  a  million  dollars,  get  elected  president  of  th' 
country  an'  not  have  nothin'  to  worry  about  all  th' 
rest  of  my  life.  Ain't  you,  Dan'l  Boone? 

"  You  must  be  scared  'most  to  death,"  he  continued 
after  a  pause.  "Any  time  you  can't  find  a  chance  to 
talk  you  shore  are  in  a  bad  fix.  I'm  beginnin'  to  lose 
my  temper.  You  make  me  plumb  disgusted,  you  do. 
What  th'  devil  do  you  think  /  was  doin'  out  here  all 
night?  Think  anybody  got  past  me  to  go  down  there 
for  you  to  shoot  at?  If  there's  anybody  down  there 
he  come  up  from  below  an'  crawled  over  you  before 
you  woke  up." 

Suddenly  he  cocked  his  head  on  one  side  and  listened 
as  a  low  gurgle  sounded  in  the  canyon. 

"Cuss  my  fool  hide!"  he  whispered.  "Mebby  he 
did  see  something!  Mebby  somebody  come  up  th' 
trail,  tryin'  to  get  out  of  th'  valley  before  daylight! 
Mebby  it  wasn't  Ben  at  all  that  did  th'  shootin'  1  Hey, 
Ben;  Ben!  For  heaven's  sake,  say  something,  any- 
thing!" 

Gates,  stung  into  a  blinding  rage  which  swept  aside 

193 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


every  thought  of  caution,  did  say  something.  Nature 
seemed  to  shrink  from  the  stream  of  throbbing  pro- 
fanity which  came  shouting  up  out  of  the  black  can- 
yon, whose  granite  walls  flung  it  back  and  forth  until 
the  chasm  reverberated  with  it. 

Harrison  listened,  entranced,  his  open  mouth,  re- 
fusing to  shut,  testifying  to  the  great  awe  which  held 
him  spellbound.  Never  in  all  his  sinful  life  had  he 
heard  such  a  masterpiece  of  invective,  epithet,  and  pro- 
fane invocation.  The  words  seemed  to  be  alive  and 
writhing  with  venom;  he  almost  could  hear  them 
crackle  in  the  air.  He  heard  himself  called  everything 
uncomplimentary  which  a  frontier  vocabulary  saved 
for  just  such  situations.  He  heard  his  ancestors  de- 
scribed back  to  the  time  of  Adam;  sweeping  up  to  the 
present,  himself,  his  relatives,  his  ambitions,  habits, 
and  personal  belongings  were  dissected  by  the  man 
below.  And  then  his  future  and  the  prophesied  future 
abode  of  his  spirit  were  probed  and  riddled  and  de- 
scribed by  a  furious,  vitriolic  tongue.  His  hair,  eyes, 
ears,  nose,  gait,  and  manners  were  gathered  up  and 
torn  apart  for  microscopic  examination  and  the  de- 
scriptions were  shouted  at  the  top  of  his  companion's 
voice,  which  bellowed  and  boomed,  rasped  and 
coughed,  screeched  and  shrilled  down  in  the  blackness 
forty  feet  below  him.  Then  there  fell  a  sudden  calm, 
a  silence  which  seemed  doubly  silent,  unreal,  because 

194 


Blindman's  Buff 


of  the  contrast.  A  convulsive,  retching,  strangling  fit 
of  coughing  broke  it,  and  then  a  hoarse,  rasping  voice 
asked  mildly,  anxiously,  a  mild  question: 

"  Is  there  anything  I  forgot?" 

Johnny,  standing  up  behind  the  smaller  bowlder 
that  he  might  not  lose  a  word  or  an  inflection  of  the 
masterpiece,  lost  in  admiration,  forgetful  of  purpose 
and  the  situation,  danced  gleefully  and  gave  a  joyous 
shout:  "Not  a  cussed  thing!" 

Harrison  fired  at  the  sound,  and  a  sharp,  lurid 
flash  replied  to  his  own.  He  staggered  back  as  he 
fired  again,  and  an  answering  flash  doubled  him  up. 
Gamely  he  pulled  the  trigger  again  and  two  spurts  of 
flame,  so  close  to  each  other  that  they  seemed  almost 
to  merge,  sent  him  staggering  and  reeling  toward  the 
edge  of  the  canyon.  Tripping  over  an  inequality  in  the 
earth  he  threw  out  his  arms,  fought  to  regain  his  bal- 
ance and  with  a  sob  plunged  over  the  wall  into  the 
darkness  below. 

Down  on  the  trail  Gates  muttered  in  sudden  horror 
as  he  felt  the  wind  of  the  hurtling  body,  and  he  leaned 
against  the  wall,  white,  sick,  shaken.  A  muffled,  sick- 
ening sound  came  up  from  the  pit,  and  Gates  dropped 
to  his  hands  and  knees,  not  daring  to  stand  erect. 

"Nat!"  he  cried.  "Nat/  Was  that  you?  Nat/ 
Natl" 

At  the  top  of  the  trail  a  rapier-like  flash  of  firs 

195 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


split  the  darkness,  and  then  a  series  of  lurid  spurts  of 
flame  stabbed  in  short  jets,  rapidly,  regular  as  the 
ticking  of  a  clock,  marking  the  place  where  two  heavy 
guns  crashed  and  jumped  as  they  poured  forth  a  stream 
of  lead  down  the  narrow  rock  shelf  that  formed  the 
precarious  trail.  The  canyon  roared  in  one  prolonged 
reverberation  and  the  bullets  whined  and  spatted  and 
screamed  in  high  falsetto  as  they  cleared  the  wall  or 
struck  it  to  glance  out  into  the  valley  below. 

Gates,  on  his  hands  and  knees,  shaken,  sick  with 
horror,  crept  slowly  downward,  oblivious  to  the  crash- 
ing, rolling  thunder  and  the  flying  lead. 

"I  didn't  mean  it,  Nat!"  he  muttered  over  and 
over  again.  "I  didn't  mean  it;  not  a  word  of  it!" 

A  sharp  spang!  sounded  on  a  rock  close  to  his  head 
and  a  hot  splinter  of  lead  cut  through  his  cheek.  He 
stopped  and  spat  it  out,  his  nerve  returning  as  a  cold 
rage  swept  over  and  steadied  him.  Jerking  his  gun 
loose  he  emptied  it  up  the  trail,  and,  methodically  re- 
loading, emptied  it  again,  slowly,  deliberately,  moving 
it  a  little  at  each  shot  so  as  to  cover  a  short  arc.  An- 
other spurt  stabbed  the  darkness  above,  and  his  gun, 
again  refilled,  replied  to  it.  Again  the  canyon  sent  roar- 
ing echoes  crashing  from  wall  to  wall  as  flash  answered 
flash.  Then  suddenly  the  gun  below  grew  silent,  and 
the  guns  above  spat  twice  spitefully  without  a  reply, 
and  they,  too,  ceased. 

196 


Blindman's  Buff 


Gates  stirred  and  slowly  raised  himself  on  an  elbow, 
groping  blindly  for  his  gun.  His  trembling  hand 
struck  it  blunderingly  and  knocked  it  over  the  edge 
of  the  trail  as  his  numbed  fingers  sought  to  close  over 
it.  Dazed,  racked  with  pain,  he  sobbed  senseless 
curses  as  he  slowly  dragged  himself  down  the  trail, 
desperately  anxious  to  reach  his  picketed  horse  be- 
fore his  reeling  senses  left  him. 

After  an  unmeasured  interval,  as  vague  and  unreal 
as  an  elusive  dream,  he  stumbled  over  the  picket  rope 
and  sprawled  full  length.  Arousing  himself  he  felt 
along  it  and  managed  to  loosen  it  from  around  the 
rock  which  served  as  a  picket  pin;  and  then,  slowly, 
by  a  great  effort  he  crawled  along  the  rope  and  stag- 
gered to  his  feet  to  grasp  the  pommel  of  his  saddle, 
where  he  clung  and  rested  for  a  moment. 

The  restless  horse,  scenting  blood,  tossed  its  head 
and  moved  forward;  but  Gates,  by  a  great,  supreme 
effort,  crawled  heavily  into  the  saddle  and  bound  him- 
self there  with  his  lariat.  Then,  spurring  clumsily, 
he  started  the  animal  toward  the  ranch-houses,  fight- 
ing desperately  to  keep  his  wandering  senses. 

An  hour  later  two  men  stole  to  the  door  of  the  end 
house  and  listened,  questioning  each  other.  Actuated 
by  a  common  impulse  they  slipped  out  toward  the  cor- 
ral, gun  in  hand,  and  found  Gates,  unconscious  and 
weak,  but  alive,  huddled  forward  on  the  horse's  neck. 

197 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE   SCIENCE  OF   SOMBREROS 

JOHNNY  rubbed  his  eyes  and  sat  up,  wondering. 
It  was  still  dark,  but  a  grayness  in  the  east  told 
of  approaching  daylight.  He  was  puzzled,  for  it  had 
been  mid-forenoon  when  he  had  gone  to  sleep.  Un- 
rolling stiffly  from  the  blanket,  he  sat  up  to  listen 
and  to  peer  about  him.  From  his  thicket  he  could  see 
the  tent,  with  the  soles  of  his  boots  and  part  of  his 
blanket  showing.  Arising  he  stretched  and  flexed  his 
muscles  to  ease  the  ache  of  them,  and  then  approached 
the  ashes  of  the  fire,  and  found  them  and  the  ground 
underneath  to  be  stone  cold.  Rubbing  his  eyes,  he 
laughed  suddenly:  he  had  slept  for  nearly  twenty 

hotirs ! 
i 

"  Shore  made  up  for  th*  sleep  I  been  missin' ! "  he 
grunted.  "  An'  ain't  I  hungry!  " 

Having  eaten  a  hearty  breakfast  he  scouted  along 
his  back  trail,  acting  upon  the  assumption  that  the 
Circle  S  puncher  might  have  gone  back  again,  picked 
it  up  and  followed  it.  Reassured  as  to  that  he  started 
back  to  camp,  and  on  the  way  topped  a  little  rise  and 
caught  sight  of  Pepper  grazing  in  the  narrow  can- 
yon. 

198 


The  Science  of  Sombreros 


"  That  won't  do,  at  all,"  he  muttered,  thoughtfully. 
"  She's  a  dead  give-away — an1  now  I  can't  take  no 
chances." 

Returning  to  his  camp  he  packed  up  food  and  spare 
ammunition,  and  then,  hurrying  down  the  canyon,  whis- 
tled to  the  horse,  who  followed  him  closely,  as  he 
searched  in  vain  for  a  safe  place  to  put  her.  He  was 
growing  impatient,  when  he  chanced  to  look  closely 
at  the  face  of  the  southern  Twin,  and  then  nodded 
quickly.  If  there  was  water  on  its  top,  that  was  the 
place  for  the  horse.  Half  an  hour  later,  after  some 
careful  climbing,  he  reached  the  high  plateau,  dropped 
the  reins  down  before  Pepper's  eyes  and  made  a  swift 
examination  of  the  top  of  the  butte.  His  hopes  were 
rewarded,  as  he  had  expected  them  to  be,  for  in  a  deep 
bowl-like  depression  lying  at  the  foot  of  a  high  steep 
ridge  he  found  a  large  pool,  the  level  of  which  was 
considerably  below  the  high-water  mark  on  the  wall. 
This  meant  concentration  due  to  evaporation,  and  he 
tasted  the  water  to  be  sure  that  it  was  fit  to  drink. 
Whistling  Pepper  to  him,  he  picketed  her  so  that  she 
could  reach  the  edge  of  the  pool  and  range  over 
enough  grass  to  satisfy  her  needs,  cached  the  pack  and 
departed. 

When  he  reached  the  canyon  he  went  around  the 
butte  and  started  for  his  camp  along  its  southern 
side,  critically  examining  the  sheer  wall  as  he  fought 

199 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


the  brush  and  the  loose  shale  under  his  feet.  There 
was  one  place  where  he  thought  it  possible  for  a  cooL 
headed,  experienced  man  to  climb  to  the  top,  if  he  put 
his  mind  to  the  task  and  took  plenty  of  time.  Giving 
it  no  further  thought  he  plunged  on,  glad  that  the 
horse  was  out  of  the  sight  of  any  scouting  rustler  and 
picketed  so  she  could  not  get  near  the  edge,  where  she 
would  have  shown  up  sharply  against  the  sky,  visible 
for  miles. 

Swinging  past  his  camp  and  turning  to  the  south  he 
cautiously  trossed  the  rustlers'  main  trail  and  climbed 
the  wall  behind  it,  and  as  he  went  forward  he  tried  to 
figure  out  what  his  enemies  thought  of  the  situation. 
If  they  believed  that  several  enemies  opposed  them 
they  would  be  likely  to  stay  in  the  houses,  or  not  stray 
far  from  them;  but  if  they  thought  only  one  man 
fought  them  they  would  most  certainly  take  the  field 
after  him.  Such  was  his  summing  up;  and,  bearing 
in  mind  that  Long  Pete,  when  last  seen  by  him,  was 
headed  toward  the  houses,  he  took  full  advantage  of 
the  cover  afforded. 

Approaching  the  cliff  by  a  roundabout  way,  he  at 
last  wriggled  to  the  edge  and  peered  over.  A  gun- 
barrel  projected  from  the  crack  of  the  door  in  the 
last  house;  a  man  lay  behind  a  bowlder  on  the  cliff 
across  the  valley,  facing  eastward;  and  almost  directly 
below  him  a  sombrero  moved  haltingly  as  its  wearer 

200 


The  Science  of  Sombreros 


slowly  climbed  up  the  cliff  at  one  of  the  few  places 
where  it  could  be  scaled. 

"They've  figgered  right,"  thought  Johnny;  "an* 
they're  goin'  to  make  things  whiz  for  me.  Red  Shirt, 
over  there,  must  be  a  thousand  yards  away;  but  this 
sink  is  deceivin'." 

He  looked  down  at  the  climber,  who  was  about  half 
way  up  the  bluff.  "Huhl  I  don't  want  to  shoot  him 
without  givin'  him  a  chance;  but  he  just  can't  come  up. 
Le's  see:  one,  two,  three;  an'  one  in  th'  house, 
wounded,  is  four.  There's  a  couple  more  somewhere, 
layin'  low  I  reckon,  waitin'  for  me  to  move  across  their 
sights." 

He  looked  across  at  Red  Shirt  and  grinned.  "  He's 
layin'  on  th'  wrong  side  of  that  rock  an1  don't  know 
it  I'll  tell  him,  an'  get  rid  of  that  climber  at  th'  same 
time.  Hope  he  busts  his  neck  gettin'  down." 

Wriggling  back  from  the  edge  so  that  the  man  in 
the  house  could  not  locate  him  by  the  smoke,  he  took 
deliberate  aim  at  Red  Shirt  and  gently  squeezed  the 
trigger.  Red  Shirt  soared  into  the  air  and  dove  over 
the  bowlder  headfirst  and  with  undignified  speed. 

"  Knowed  it  was  deceivin',"  growled  Johnny.  "  Shot 
plumb  over  him.  Can't  be  more'n  eight  hundred  yards. 
An'  that's  a  fool  color  of  a  shirt  to  wear  on  a  job  like 
this." 

Johnny's  shirt  had  been  blue,  a  long  time  back;  but 

201 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


now  its  color  hardly  could  be  described  by  a  single  ad- 
jective. Sun,  wind,  and  strong  lye  soap  had  taken  their 
toll ;  and  it  had  not  been  washed  since  he  had  left  his 
little  valley. 

Wriggling  back  to  the  patch  of  grass,  a  quick  glance 
below  showed  the  climber  frantically  descending;  and 
the  man  in  the  house  was  making  lots  of  smoke 
on  a  gamble.  Across  the  valley  a  gray-white  cloud 
puffed  out  above  the  big  rock  and  a  little  spurt  of  sand 
forty  feet  to  Johnny's  left  told  him  that  Red  Shirt, 
too,  was  guessing. 

"  Must  V  been  asleep  not  to  see  my  smoke,"  mut- 
tered Johnny. 

More  smoke  rolled  up  from  the  bowlder  and  soon 
some  pebbles  not  ten  feet  away  from  him  scattered 
suddenly,  while  a  high-pitched  whine  soared  skyward. 

"He's  pluggin'  at  every  bit  of  cover  he  can  see," 
mused  Johnny,  wriggling  back  behind  a  rock.  "An* 
he'll  prospect  that  bunch  of  grass  —  knowed  it!  He 
can  shoot,"  he  exclaimed  in  ungrudging  praise;  "an* 
he's  got  th'  range  figgered  to  a  foot.  An'  he's  workin' 
steady  from  th'  north  to  th'  south;  an'  when  he  tries 
for  that  clump  of  brush  over  there  he's  got  to  show  his 
head  an'  shoulder." 

A  puff  of  dust  and  sand  fifty  feet  to  his  right  told 
him  to  get  ready;  and  then  a  bowlder  south  of  the  sand- 
puff  said  spat!, 

202 


The  Science  of  Sombreros 


Johnny  lowered  his  rear  sight  and  cuddled  the  stock 
of  the  heavy  Sharp's  to  his  cheek.  Slowly  a  red  dot 
moved  up  in  front  of  his  sights  and  he  again  squeezed 
the  trigger,  and  again  missed.  But  he  had  no  way 
of  knowing  that  Art  Fleming  was  spitting  sand  and 
that  his  eyes  had  not  escaped  the  little  shower. 

"I  got  to  guess  too  much,"  swore  Johnny.  "That 
front  sight  hides  him.  I  wonder  how  many  times  I 
was  goin'  to  file  it  sharp?" 

As  he  reloaded,  his  sombrero  suddenly  tugged  at 
his  scalp  and  a  flat  report  sounded  behind  him.  He 
quickly  rolled  into  a  shallow  depression  and  another 
bullet  sprayed  him  with  sand. 

"  Repeater,"  he  growled.  "  I  got  as  much  sense  as 
a  sheep-herder ! " 

There  now  was  plenty  of  cover  between  him  and 
Repeater,  but  there  was  still  too  little  distance  between 
him  and  Fleming;  and  the  latter  was  a  disconcertingly 
good  shot.  Two  quick  reports  sounded  from  the 
house  and  Johnny  smiled;  the  man  at  the  door  was 
seeing  things,  and  backing  his  imagination  with  lead. 

Johnny  was  watching  a  ridge  behind  him.  "  Me  an' 
Repeater  are  goin1  to  argue,"  he  remarked,  and  al- 
most fired  when  a  sombrero  slowly  arose  on  the  sky- 
line. 

"Cussed  near  bit,"  he  chuckled;  "but  you  got  to 
have  yore  head  in  that  bonnet  before  I  lets  drive." 

203 


The  Mem  from  Bar-20 


A  matted  tuft  of  grass  on  the  top  of  the  ridge  moved 
so  gently  that  only  a  very  observant  eye  would  have 
detected  it.  Johnny's  Sharp's  roared,  and  instantly  was 
answered  from  a  point  a  yard  away  from  the  stirring 
clump  of  grass,  the  bullet  fanning  his  face. 

"  Yo're  too  cussed  tricky,"  grunted  Johnny;  "but  I 
got  a  few  of  my  own." 

Leaving  his  rifle  lying  so  that  its  barrel  barely  pro- 
jected into  sight,  he  slipped  into  a  gulley  and  crept 
toward  the  west,  a  Colt  in  his  hand. 

Repeater  again  stirred  the  grass  tuft,  and  then  he 
found  a  rock  about  the  size  of  a  man's  head  and  pushed 
it  up  to  the  skyline  of  the  ridge.  Nothing  happened 
"If  my  hair  wasn't  so  red,"  he  murmured,  "I'd  take 
a  peek.  It's  an  awful  cross  for  a  man  to  bear." 

He  was  a  cheerful  cattle-thief  and  did  not  get  easily 
discouraged.  Also,  he  was  something  of  a  genius,  as 
he  proved  by  putting  his  sombrero  on  the  rock  and 
raising  the  decoy  high  enough  in  the  grass  for  the 
hat  brim  to  show. 

"Shoot,  cuss  you!"  he  grunted,  leveling  his  rifle; 
and  then  as  the  uneventful  seconds  passed  he  grew 
fault-finding  and  used  bad  language.  Suddenly  a  sus- 
picion flashed  across  his  mind. 

"That  would  fool  a  man  with  second  sight,"  he 
muttered.  "Somethin's  plumb  wrong;  an'  I  think 
I  better  move.  That  bowlder  over  there  looks  good." 

204 


The  Science  of  Sombreros 


And  as  he  crawled  behind  it  a  pair  of  keen  eyes  barely 
caught  sight  of  his  disappearing  heel. 

"  That  man's  got  th'  right  to  wear  expensive  hats," 
grinned  Johnny,  squatting  behind  a  great  mass  of  lava ; 
and  his  grin  widened  as  he  glimpsed  the  sombrero- 
topped  rock.  "Yes,  sir:  he's  got  a  head  worth  'em; 
an'  if  I  don't  watch  him  close  I'll  grab  holt  of  th' 
wrong  end  of  somethinV 

Across  the  valley  Fleming,  having  cleared  his  eyes 
of  sand,  was  rapidly  recovering  his  normal  vision  and 
was  preparing  with  cheerful  optimism  to  bombard 
everything  which  looked  capable  of  sheltering  his 
enemy,  when  a  movement  north  of  and  far  behind 
the  suspected  area  acted  upon  him  galvanically.  He 
threw  the  rifle  to  his  shoulder  without  elevating  the 
sight,  raised  it  instinctively  to  the  angle  of  maximum 
range  and  squeezed  the  trigger.  He  did  not  expect 
a  hit,  and  he  did  not  get  one;  but  he  caused  his  friend- 
ship to  be  strongly  doubted. 

Repeater  ducked,  and  when  his  face  bobbed  up  again 
it  wore  an  expression  of  outraged  trust,  and  he  raised 
a  belligerent  fist  and  muttered  profanely  in  hot  cen- 
sure of  the  distant  experimenter.  Fleming,  chuckling 
at  his  friend  Sanford's  anxiety,  raised  his  sombrero 
and  waved  it,  seeming  to  regard  this  as  ample  repara- 
tion. 

"  He's  gettin*  as  bad  as  Gates,"  grovled  Sanford, 

2,05 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


eying  a  leaden  splotch  on  a  bowlder  a  foot  above  his 
head;  "but  he  can  shoot  like  th'  hinges  of  h — 1  with 
that  blasted  Sharp's." 

He  suddenly  leaped  closer  to  the  bowlder  and  be- 
hind its  sheltering  bulge,  for  Fleming,  having  apolo- 
gized, fired  again.  The  marksman  was  frantically 
waving  his  sombrero,  seemingly  indicating  a  southerly 
direction* 

Sanford  scowled  at  him.  "  Does  he  want  me  to 
go  south,  or  does  he  mean  that  that  feller  is  south  of 
me?" 

Fleming,  with  no  regard  for  the  cost  of  Sharp's 
Specials,  fired  again  and  Sanford  heard  the  slobbering, 
wheezing  hum  of  a  nearly  spent  bullet  turning  end 
over  end  in  the  air  and  trying  to  ricochet  after  it 
struck. 

"He's  shootin'  south  of  me,"  said  Sanford;  "anr  I 
stays  here.  Somethin'  tells  me  that  th'  feller  that  does 
th'  movin'  is  goin'  to  die.  No  red-head  ever  made 
a  handsome  corpse,  an'  bein'  th'  red-head  which  I 
mentions,  I'm  goin'  to  stick  to  this  hunk  of  granite 
like  a  tick  to  a  cow." 

Johnny,  hands  on  hips,  was  glaring  defiance  at  the 
cheerful  spendthrift,  sorry  that  he  had  left  his  rifle 
behind.  He  regarded  Fleming  as  a  meddlesome  busy- 
body who  took  delight  in  revealing  his  every  move- 
ment. Also,  the  optimist  was  a  good  shot;  but  her 

206 


The  Science  of  Sombreros 


derived  no  satisfaction  from  the  fact  that  the  closest 
bullet  had  been  •<  ricochet,  for  a  key-holing  slug  makes 
an  awful  mess  if  it  lands. 

"I'll  bust  yore  neck  I"  quoth  Johnny,  shaking  a  fist 
at  the  persistent  nuisance;  and  then  he  jumped  aside 
as  a  sudden  sharp  spat!  came  from  the  bowlder.  "  You 
can  shoot  near  as  good  as  Red  Connors'  but  if  he  was 
here  he'd  show  you  what  that  little  difference  means." 
He  raised  his  voice:  "Hey,  Repeater!  Who  is  that 
fool?" 

Sanford  laughed  softly  and  made  no  answer;  but 
he  carelessly  showed  a  shirt  sleeve,  and  when  he  jerked 
it  back  under  cove*  It  needed  a  patch. 

"What  th'  h— 1  you  doin'?"  demanded  Sanford 
heatedly. 

"Who's  Red  Shirt?" 

"  Ackerman." 

"  Then  he's  better  with  a  Sharp's  than  a  Colt" 

"  That's  a  Spencer  carbine." 

Johnny  laughed  derisively:  "  If  it  is  he'll  strain  it* 

"  It's  a  Winchester,"  chuckled  Sanford 

"Yo'realiar!" 

"  Yo're  another!    She's  a  single-shot,  .40-90." 

"Then  he's  changed  guns.  He  had  a  Winchester 
repeater  in  Hastings.  I  saw  it." 

"  You'll  see  too  much  some  day.    You'll  see  a  slug 


in  yore  eye." 


207 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


11  I'm  waitin',"  replied  Johnny,  and  ducked.  Flem- 
ing was  getting  good  again,  and  Johnny  was  glad  that 
he  could  not  see  where  his  bullets  were  landing,  for  as 
it  was  he  was  shooting  by  guess. 

"  He'll  get  you  yet,"  encouraged  Sanford. 

"Think  I'm  goin'  to  wait  for  it?"  indignantly  de- 
manded Johnny. 

"  Gimme  a  look  at  you,"  urged  Sanford  genially. 

"Stand  up  an'  take  it,"  retorted  Johnny. 

"Reckon  I'm  scared  to?" 

There  was  no  r°ply,  for  Johnny  had  slipped  away 
and  was  running  at  top  speed  along  a  gully,  where  he 
was  out  of  sight  of  the  hard-working  Fleming.  A  few 
minutes  later  he  had  reachec  his  rifle  and  was  cud- 
dling it  against  his  cheek;  and  he  was  causing  Sanford 
a  great  amount  of  mental  anguish  and  wriggling 
progress. 

"  Some  people  calls  this  strategy,"  muttered  Johnny, 
"but  I  calls  it  common  sense-" 

Raising  his  head  cautiously  he  looked  across  the 
valley  but  saw  no  sign  of  Fleming;  and  he  figured  that 
it  would  be  an  hour  before  that  interesting  person  could 
cross  the  valley  and  get  close  enough  to  be  a  menace. 
What  concerned  him  most  were  the  two  rustlers' 
friends,  who  must  certainly  have  heard  the  shooting. 
Out  of  deference  to  the  curiosity  of  those  individuals 
he  crawled  into  a  partly  filled-in  crevice,  whose  sides 

208 


The  Science  of  Sombreros 


were  steep  rock  and  whose  floor  was  several  feet  be- 
low the  level  of  the  surrounding  plateau. 

Peering  out  from  between  two  rocks  he  saw  San- 
ford's  sombrero  disappear  from  the  ridge,  and  then  it 
cautiously  arose  again;  and  Johnny's  eyes  narrowed, 
for  he  knew  the  numerous  uses  of  sombreros. 

"Keep  stickin'  it  up,"  he  muttered.  "An  when  I 
get  tired  shootin'  at  it  you'll  stick  yore  head  in  it  an* 
get  a  good  look  around.  Most  generally  when  a  man 
pokes  up  an  empty  hat  th*  crown  don't  tip  back  as  it 
rises ;  it  just  comes  up  level.  An  honest  hat  slants  back 
more  an'  more  as  it  comes  up.  'Cause  why?  Why, 
'cause.  'Cause  a  man  uses  his  neck  to  raise  his  head 
with.  Now,  if  he  kept  his  neck  stiff  an'  raised  his 
whole  body,  from  th'  knees  up,  plumb  straight  in  th' 
air,  then  th'  hat  would  come  up  leveL  An'  I  asks  you, 
Ladies  an'  Gents,  if  a  man  layin'  down  behind  a  lit- 
tle ridge  can  raise  his  whole  body  stiff  an'  straight, 
plumb  up  an'  down?  No,  ma'am;  he  can't.  He  raises 
his  soiled  an'  leathery  neck,  an'  th'  top  of  th'  useful 
sombrero  just  naturally  leans  backward;  just  like  that. 

"Look,  Mister;  there  it  comes  again;  an'  it  don't 
tip  back  at  all.  I  shall  ignore  it,  deliberate  an'  cold. 
But  when  it  tips  back,  lifelike  an'  natural,  like  a'  honest 
hat  should,  then  I'll  pay  attention  to  it,  me  an'  my 
little  Sharp's  Special. 

"Oh,  I've  done  made  a  study  of  appearin'  hats. 

209 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


I'm  a  reg'lar  he-milliner.  It  was  Red  Connors  an* 
Hoppy  that  directed  my  great  intelligence  to  that  im- 
portant science.  Tex  Ewalt  knowed  about  it,  too.  Tex 
was  eddicated,  he  was.  He  said  it  is  in  th'  little  things 
that  genius  showed.  He  said  somethin'  about  genius 
payin'  attention  to  details,  an1  havin'  infernal  patience. 
Now,  Ladies  an'  Gents,  a  hat  is  a  detail ;  an'  right  now 
I've  got  th'  infernal  patience.  Lookee!  There  she 
comes  again!  Level  as  a  table.  So,  you  see;  I'm  a 
genius.  An'  ain't  he  a  persistent  cuss?  He's  got  infer- 
nal patience,  too;  but  he  ain't  no  genius.  He  ain't 
strong  on  details." 

He  looked  around  and  grinned.  Another  hat,  to 
the  west  of  him,  was  in  plain  sight. 

"Huh!  Two  hats  in  sight  are  two  corners  of  a  tri- 
angle; an*  sometimes  th'  most  dangerous  corner  is  th' 
third,  where  there  ain't  no  hat.  Somewhere  east  of 
me  there's  a  feller  sneakin'  up ;  an'  he's  th'  feller  I  got 
to  ventilate  with  my  long-distance  ventilator.  An' 
mebby  th'  second  hat's  boss  is  circlin'  around  bare- 
headed; but  it  is  still  a  triangle.  Mebby  it's  a  four 
or  five  or  six  cornered  triangle.  An*  me,  I'm  all  alone; 
so  I'll  crawl  east  an'  hunt  for  company." 

He  dropped  the  monologue  and  took  up  the  science 
of  wriggling  swiftly  and  silently;  and  when  he  stopped 
he  was  in  the  middle  of  a  nest  of  rocks  and  bowlders 
at  the  base  of  a  great  pile  of  them. 

210 


The  Science  of  Sombreros 


The  second  hat  still  could  be  seen,  but  he  gave  most 
of  his  attention  to  the  opposite  direction. 

"  If  I'm  wrong,  why  did  Number  Two  stick  up  his 
hat?  I'll  bet  a  peso  that  him,  or  Red  Shirt,  or  their 
friends  are  stalkin'  me  from  th'  east.  An'  I'll  bet  two 
pesos  that  I'll  cure  him  of  such  pranks.  There's  only 
two  ways  of  explainin'  that  second  hat.  One  is  that 
th'  owner  is  loco.  Th'  other  is  that  he  left  his  sign 
hangin'  up  to  show  me  where  he  ain't.  Th'  other  is 
that  he  left  it  so  I'd  think  he  wasn't  there,  but  he  is. 
An'  th'  other  is  that  he  figgered  I'd  think  he  left  it  to 
show  me  where  he  ain't  an'  that  I'd  think  he  was,  so 
he  moved  on  an'  ain't  there  at  all.  Jumpin'  maver- 
icks I  It  makes  my  head  ache.  Havin'  settled  it  with 
only  four  ways  left  to  guess,  I'll  stay  pat,  right  here, 
an'  let  them  do  th'  openin'." 

The  shadows  were  growing  longer  and  reaching  out 
from  bowlders  and  brush  like  dark  fingers  of  destiny, 
and  the  sun  hung  over  the  western  buttes  and  set  them 
afire  with  brilliant  colors.  A  lizard  flashed  around  a 
rock,  regarded  the  prone  and  motionless  figure  with 
frank  suspicion  until  a  slight  movement  sent  it  scurry- 
ing back  again. 

To  the  left  a  bush  trembled  slightly  and  he  covered 
a  rain-worn  crease  which  cut  through  the  top  of  a 
ditch  bank.  To  the  right  a  pebble  clicked  and  behind 
him  came  the  faint  snapping  of  a  twig. 

211 


TJie  Man  from  Bar-20 


"  Three  of  'em  stalkin'  me ! "  he  muttered  angrily, 
"  I  got  to  shoot  on  sight  an'  not  waste  a  shot  An* 
they  knowed  where  I  was,  judgin'  from  th'  way  they're 
closin'  in  on  that  crevice." 

In  front  of  him  a  red  line  showed  and,  rising  steadily 
into  view,  became  the  back  of  a  bare  head.  Then, 
very  slowly,  a  brown  neck  pushed  up,  followed  by  the 
shoulders.  Johnny  picked  up  a  small  rock  and  arose 
to  a  squatting  position. 

Sanford  was  now  on  his  toes,  crouching,  the  tips  of 
his  left  hand  fingers  on  the  ground,  while  in  his  other 
hand,  held  shoulder  high,  poised  a  Colt,  ready  for  that 
quick,  chopping  motion  which  many  men  affected. 

Johnny  took  careful  aim  and  threw  the  stone.  San- 
ford  jumped  when  the  missile  struck  near  him,  and 
wheeled  like  a  flash,  the  Colt  swinging  down.  He  saw 
a  squatting  figure,  a  dull  glint  of  metal  and  a  spurt  of 
flame.  Johnny  wriggled  swiftly  back  among  the  rocks 
and  awaited  developments. 

"  They  don't  know  who  fired,"  he  mused,  "  an'  they 
dassn't  ask." 

If  it  had  been  a  miss  the  silence  would  have  been  un- 
broken, as  before,  until  a  second  shot  shattered  it;  and 
if  it  had  killed  the  rustler  the  silence  also  would  remain 
unbroken;  but  if  Sanford  had  scored  a  kill  he  instantly 
would  have  made  it  known.  Being  uncertain  they  were 
sure  to  investigate. 

212 


The  Science  of  Sombreros 


"Cuss  it,  there's  at  least  two  left;  an'  there  may  be 
four  or  five,"  grumbled  Johnny.  "  I  stay  right  here  till 
dark." 

Suddenly  he  heard  a  soft,  rubbing  sound,  and  he 
guessed  that  someone  wearing  leather  chaps  was  crawl- 
ing along  the  rocky  ground  behind  the  pile  of  bowlders 
which  sheltered  him.  The  sound  grew  softer  and  died 
out,  and  a  panic-stricken  lizard  flitted  around  a  rock, 
stopped  instantly  as  it  caught  sight  of  him,  wheeled 
and  darted  between  two  stones.  Johnny  smiled  grimly 
and  waited,  the  gun  poised  in  his  hand.  Again  the  rub- 
bing sounded,  this  time  a  little  nearer,  and  he  softly 
pushed  himself  further  back  among  the  bowlders. 
Something  struck  his  left  hand  holster  and  he  glanced 
quickly  backward,  and  paled  suddenly  as  he  saw  the 
copperhead  wrestling  to  get  its  fangs  loose.  He  drew 
in  his  breath  sharply  and  his  hand  darted  back  and 
down,  gripping  behind  the  vicious,  triangular,  bur- 
nished head;  and  instantly  a  three-foot,  golden-brown, 
blotched  band  writhed  around  his  wrist  and  arm,  seem- 
ing to  flow  beneath  its  skin.  Jerking  his  hand  forward 
again  he  broke  the  reptile's  neck,  tore  it  from  his  arm, 
shoved  it  back  among  the  rocks,  picked  up  the  Colt 
again,  and  waited. 

There  sounded,  clear  and  sharp,  a  sudden  whirring 
rattle  and  the  rubbing  sound  grew  instantly  louder. 
Again  the  fear-inspiring  warning  sounded  and  he  heard 

213 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


pebbles  rolling,  where  a  creeping  rustler  made  frantic 
efforts  to  get  back  where  he  suddenly  felt  that  he 
belonged.  A  rattlesnake  ready  for  war  is  not  a  pleas- 
ant thing  to  crawl  onto. 

"  This  is  a  devil  of  a  place !  n  muttered  Johnny,  cold 
chills  running  along  his  spine.  "  It's  a  reg'lar  den ! 
As  soon  as  that  cow-thief  gets  far  enough  away,  that 
rattler  will  slip  in  among  these  rocks  —  an*  my  laigs 
ain't  goin'  to  be  back  there  when  he  arrives !  " 

He  wriggled  softly  out  of  the  narrow  opening  and 
found  more  comfort  on  a  wider  patch  of  ground,  where 
he  could  sit  on  his  feet.  As  he  settled  back  he  saw  the 
rattler  slipping  among  the  stones  at  his  left. 

"It  all  belongs  to  you  an*  yore  friends,"  muttered 
Johnny,  getting  off  his  feet.  "I'll  risk  th'  bullets, 
cussed  if  I  won't ! "  And  he  forthwith  crawled  to- 
ward the  side  where  he  had  heard  the  rubbing  sounds. 

The  shadows  were  gone,  merged  into  the  dusk 
which  was  rapidly  settling  over  the  plateau,  and  he  had 
to  wait  only  a  little  longer  to  be  covered  by  darkness ; 
but  he  preferred  to  do  his  waiting  at  a  point  distant 
from  a  snakes'  den.  Creeping  along  the  edge  of  the 
bowlder  pile,  alert  both  for  snakes  and  rustlers,  he  at 
last  reached  the  southern  end  and  stopped  suddenly. 
A  leather-covered  leg  was  disappearing  around  a  dense 
thicket,  and  he  darted  to  the  shelter  of  a  gully  to  wait 
until  darkness  would  hide  him  on  his  return  to  camp. 

214 


CHAPTER  XVII 

TREED 

JOHNNY  awakened  at  the  shot  and  softly  rolled 
out  of  his  blanket.  The  fire  was  nearly  out,  but 
an  occasional  burst  of  flame  from  the  end  of  the  last 
stick  served  to  show  him  the  outlines  of  the  little  tent 
and  the  glistening  hobnails  in  the  soles  of  the  protrud- 
ing boots.  A  bush  stirred  and  a  careless  step  snapped 
a  twig  with  a  report  startlingly  loud  in  the  night.  A 
voice  some  distance  behind  him  called  out  to  a  figure 
which  appeared  like  a  ghost  upon  the  edge  of  the  little 
clearing. 

"Get  him,  Purdy?" 

Boots  scraped  on  stone  at  his  right  and  another 
voice  raised  out  of  the  dark.  "If  he  didn't,  there'd 
be  some  cussed  rapid  shootin'  about  now !  " 

"  Course  I  got  him !  "  snorted  Purdy. 

Johnny  cautiously  backed  out  of  the  thicket  while 
the  men  behind  him  crashed  through  the  brush  and 
swore  at  the  density  of  the  growth. 

The  man  at  the  end  of  the  clearing  stopped  and  stood 
quietly  regarding  the  vague  boots,  his  rifle  at  the  ready. 
Somehow  he  did  not  feel  that  everything  was  as  it 
should  be.  The  boots  appeared  to  be  in  the  same  posi- 

215 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


tion  as  when  he  had  espied  them  a  moment  before.  He 
must  have  made  a  lucky  brain  or  heart  shot,  or — .  He 
raised  his  hand  swiftly  and  backed  into  the  oak  brush 
again,  where  Mexican  locust  in  the  high  grass  stabbed 
him  mercilessly.  Again  his  rifle  spoke.  The  boots 
did  not  move. 

;<  You  got  him  th'  first  time,"  laughed  Fleming,  walk- 
ing rapidly  toward  the  tent;  but  he  was  not  confident 
enough  in  his  claim  to  put  up  his  Colt. 

"  Shore,"  endorsed  Holbrook.  "  It  was  good  judg- 
ment, an'  good  luck." 

Fleming,  Colt  ready,  leaned  swiftly  over,  grasped  a 
boot  and  gave  a  strong  pull  —  and  went  down  on  his 
back,  the  Colt  exploding  and  flying  one  way  while  the 
boot,  showering  pebbles  and  small  bits  of  rock,  soared 
aloft  and  went  the  other  way. 

"D — n  him!"  swore  Purdy,  diving  back  into  the 
brush  and  giving  no  thought  to  the  thorns.  "  Cover, 
fellers!  Quick!"  he  cried. 

His  warning  was  hardly  needed,  for  Holbrook  had 
dived  headfirst  into  a  matted  thicket  and  landed  on 
some  locust  with  but  little  more  that  passing  knowledge 
of  its  presence.  Fleming  bounded  to  his  feet,  scooped 
up  his  Colt  on  the  run  and  jumped  into  another  thicket, 
unmindful  at  first  of  the  peculiar  odor  which  assailed 
his  nostrils.  He  had  no  time,  then,  to  think  about 
skunks,  or  whether  or  not  they  were  hydrophobia 

216 


Treed 

The  silence  was  deep  and  unbroken,  except  for  an 
occasional  faint  swish  or  scrape,  for  three  men  had  set- 
tled down  where  they  had  landed,  there  to  remain 
until  daylight,  not  far  off,  came  to  help  them. 

Out  of  the  clearing  a  small,  striped  animal  moved 
leisurely  and  defiantly,  tainting  the  air,  and  entered  the 
tent.  It  instantly  became  the  cynosure  of  three  pairs  of 
anxious  eyes,  for  while  August  was  a  long  way  off, 
three  worried  punchers  found  small  satisfaction  in  that. 
They  would  sooner  face  an  angry  silver-tip,  or  a  cou- 
gar with  young,  than  to  intrude  upon  the  vision  of  that 
insignificant  but  odorous  "  'phoby  cat."  Each  of  them 
knew  of  instances,  related  by  others,  where  men  bitten 
by  a  skunk  had  gone  raving  mad;  but  none  of  them, 
personally,  ever  had  seen  any  such  case;  and  none  of 
them  had  any  intention  of  letting  the  other  two  see  any 
such  a  shocking  spectacle  in  the  immediate  future. 

The  little  animal  emerged  from  the  tent  and  ap- 
peared to  be  undecided  as  to  which  way  to  go;  and  no 
roulette  ball  ever  possessed  the  fascination  nor  fur- 
nished the  thrills  that  took  hold  of  the  three  staring 
watchers.  It  took  a  few  steps  one  way  and  a  few 
steps  the  other,  and  then  started  straight  for  the  thicket 
where  Art  Fleming  shuddered  and  swore  under  his 
breath.  Two  sighs  arose  on  the  air  concurrent  with  the 
cursing. 

"  Just  my  cussed  luck ! "  gritted  Fleming.    "  Get  out 

217 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


of  here,  cuss  you ! "  he  whispered  fiercely,  and  raised 
his  Colt.  No  sane  man,  with  his  firm  beliefs  regarding 
skunks,  would  hesitate  when  forced  to  choose  between 
probable  death  from  a  bullet  or  certain  and  horrible 
death  from  hydrophobia.  The  skunk  reached  the  edge 
of  the  thicket,  five  feet  from  the  perspiring  puncher, 
and  was  blown  into  a  mass  of  reeking  flesh. 

Fleming  groaned  miserably.  uThey  shore  dies 
game !  "  he  swore,  half-nauseated.  "  They're  cussed 
strong  finishers !  Why  couldn't  he  'a'  headed  for  one 
of  th'  others?  I  got  to  move,  right  now." 

He  did  so,  slowly,  cautiously,  painfully;  but  the  scent 
moved  with  him.  He  stopped,  mopped  his  face,  and 
then  held  his  hand  away  from  him.  His  sleeve,  vest, 
and  'sombrero  proclaimed  their  presence  with  an  en- 
thusiastic strength  and  persistence. 

"  Cussed  if  he  didn't  hit  me !  An'  I  might  just  as 
well  go  back  to  th'  ranch,  so  far's  huntin'  Nelson  is  con- 
cerned. He  could  smell  me  a  day  before  he  caught 
sight  of  me  1 "  A  sickly  grin  slipped  over  his  face,  for 
he  was  blessed  with  a  keen  sense  of  humor.  "  Won't 
Gates  an'  Quigley  be  indignant  when  I  odors  in  upon 
'em!" 

Purdy  rolled  his  head  in  silent  mirth,  one  hand  over 
his  nose;  and  Holbrook  alternately  chuckled  and 
swore,  wishing  that  the  soft  wind  would  shift  and  spare 
him. 

218 


Treed 

"  Laugh  1 "  blazed  Fleming,  angry,  ashamed,  and 
disgusted,  removing  his  vest  and  throwing  it  into  the 
clearing.  His  sombrero  followed  it  and  then  there  was 
a  ripping  sound  and  a  red  flannel  shirt  sleeve  joined  the 
other  cast-offs.  The  little,  persistent  flame  on  the 
stick  blazed  higher  and  revealed  the  collection  of  per- 
sonal effects. 

"  If  he  peels  off  th'  rest  of  his  shirt  an'  shucks  his 
pants,  he'll  smell  near  as  bad,"  chuckled  Purdy  glee- 
fully. 

"  Dan'l  Boone  Number  Two !  "  said  Holbrook,  tears 
in  his  eyes.  "  But  I  shore  wish  he  had  enticed  it  off 
aways  before  he  shot  it ! " 

Dawn  stole  from  the  east  and  the  magnificent  sun- 
rise passed  unnoticed.  Fleming,  sullen,  angry,  odorous, 
trudged  doggedly  to  his  horse,  which  regarded  him 
with  evil  eyes,  mounted  and  rode  away  at  a  gallop  in 
his  desire  to  create  a  breeze;  and  in  this  the  horse 
needed  no  urging.  Back  in  the  canyon  Purdy  and  Hol- 
brook scouted  diligently,  but  with  caution,  covering 
ground  slowly  and  thoroughly  as  they  advanced. 

Under  a  tangled  thicket  near  the  camp  there  was  a 
sudden  movement,  and  Johnny,  hands  and  face  cov- 
ered with  blood  from  the  scratches  of  thorns,  slowly 
emerged  and  followed  the  scouting  rustlers  at  a  dis- 
tance. Satisfied  that  they  would  not  return  he  circled 
swiftly  to  the  south  of  the  camp  and  caught  a  glimpse 

219 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


of  Fleming  as  that  unfortunate  plodded  dejectedly  over 
a  distant  ridge  on  his  way  to  his  horse. 

Johnny  watched  for  a  moment,  and  then,  turning 
hastily,  slipped  back  to  the  camp,  where  he  collected 
what  he  could  carry,  packed  it  into  blankets,  put  on  the 
well-worn,  heavy  boots,  fastened  the  pack  on  his  back 
and  dashed  into  the  cover  again,  desperately  anxious 
to  gain  his  objective. 

He  knew  what  would  happen.  As  soon  as  Fleming 
reached  the  ranch-houses  he  would  reclothe  himself 
and  return  with  those  of  his  friends  who  were  able  to 
accompany  him;  and  it  would  not  be  long  before  the 
Twin  Buttes  section  would  be  thoroughly  combed.  He 
could  not  hide  his  trail,  so  it  were  wise  to  lead  them  to 
a  place  they  could  not  search. 

Slipping  on  the  treacherous  malpais  and  loose  stones, 
fighting  through  the  torturing  locust  and  cactus  hidden 
in  the  grass,  he  pushed  through  matted  thickets  of  oak 
brush  and  manzanito  by  main  strength,  savagely  deter- 
mined to  gain  his  goal  well  in  advance  of  the  creeping, 
cautious  cattle-thieves  who  crept,  foot  by  foot,  down 
the  canyon  on  the  other  side  of  the  butte. 

A  black  bear  lumbered  out  of  his  way  and  sat  down 
to  watch  him  pass,  the  little  eyes  curious  and  unblink- 
ing. Several  white-tailed  deer  shot  up  a  slope  ahead  of 
him  in  unbelievable  leaps  and  at  a  remarkable  speed. 
He  leaped  over  a  fallen  pine  trunk  and  his  heavy  boot- 

220 


Treed 

heel  crushed  a  snake  which  rattled  and  struck  at  the 
same  instant;  but  the  heavy  boots  and  the  trousers 
tucked  within  them  made  the  vicious  fangs  harmless. 
Flies  swarmed  about  him  and  yellow-jackets  stung  him 
as  he  squashed  over  a  muddy  patch  of  clay.  A  grinning 
coyote  slunk  aside  to  give  him  undisputed  right-of-way, 
while  high  up  on  the  slope  a  silver-tip  grizzly  stopped 
his  foraging  long  enough  to  watch  him  pass. 

For  noise  he  cared  nothing;  the  up-flung  butte  reared 
its  rocky  walls  between  him  and  his  enemies;  and  he 
plunged  on,  all  his  energies  centered  on  speed,  regard- 
less of  the  stings  and  the  sweat  which  streamed  down 
him,  tinged  with  blood  from  the  mass  of  smarting 
scratches.  Malpais,  cunningly  hidden  in  the  grass, 
pressed  painfully  against  the  worn,  thin  soles  of  his 
boots  and  hurt  him  cruelly  as  he  slipped  and  floundered. 
He  staggered  and  slipped  more  frequently  now,  and 
the  pack  on  his  back  seemed  to  have  trebled  in  weight; 
his  breath  came  in  great,  sobbing  gulps  and  the  blood 
pulsed  through  his  aching  temples  like  hammer  blows, 
while  a  hot,  tight  band  seemed  to  encircle  his  parched 
throat;  but  he  now  was  in  sight  of  his  goal. 

Beginning  at  a  rock  slide,  a  mass  of  treacherous 
broken  rock  and  shale  in  which  he  sank  to  his  ankles 
at  every  plunging  step,  a  faint  zigzag  line  wandered  up 
the  southern  face  of  the  butte.  He  did  not  know  that 
it  could  be  mastered,  but  he  did  not  have  time  to  gain 

221 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


the  easier  trail,  up  which  he  had  led  his  horse.  Strug- 
gling up  the  shale  slope,  slipping  and  floundering  in  the 
treacherous  footing,  he  flung  himself  on  the  rock  ledge 
which  slanted  sharply  upward. 

Resting  until  his  head  cleared,  he  began  a  climb 
which  ever  after  existed  in  his  memory  as  a  vague  but 
horrible  nightmare.  Rattlesnakes  basked  in  the 
sun,  coiling  swiftly  and  sounding  their  whirring  alarm 
as  he  neared  them;  but  blindly  thrown  rocks  mashed 
them  and  sent  them  writhing  over  the  edge  to  whirl 
to  destruction  in  the  valley  below.  Treacherous,  rot- 
ten ledges  crumbled  as  he  put  his  weight  on  them,  and 
he  saved  himself  time  and  time  again  only  by  an  in- 
tuitive leap  nearly  as  dangerous  as  the  peril  he  avoided. 
At  many  places  the  ledge  disappeared,  and  it  was  only 
by  desperate  use  of  fingers  and  toes  that  he  managed  to- 
pass  the  gaps,  spread-eagled  against  the  cliff  while  he 
moved  an  inch  at  a  time,  high  above  the  yawning 
depths,  to  the  beginning  of  a  new  ledge. 

Scrawny,  hardy  shrubs,  living  precariously  in  cracks 
and  on  ledges,  and  twisted  roots  found  his  grip  upon 
them.  At  one  place  a  flue-like  crack  in  the  wall,  a 
"chimney,"  was  the  only  way  to  proceed,  and  he 
climbed  it,  back  and  head  against  one  side,  knees  and 
hands  against  the  other,  the  strain  making  him  faint 
and  dizzy.  Below  him  lay  the  tree-tops,  dwarfed,  a 
blur  to  his  throbbing  eyes. 

222 


Treed 


A  ledge  of  rock  upon  which  he  momentarily  rested 
his  weight  detached  itself  and  plunged  downward  a 
sheer  three  hundred  feet,  crashing  through  the  under- 
brush and  scrub  timber  before  it  burst  apart.  On  hands 
and  knees  he  crossed  a  muddy  spot,  where  a  thin 
trickle  of  water,  no  wider  than  his  thumb,  spread  out 
and  made  the  ledge  slippery  before  it  was  sucked  in 
by  the  sun-baked  rocks.  A  swarm  of  yellow-jackets,  bal- 
ancing daintily  on  the  wet  rock,  attacked  him  viciously 
when  he  disturbed  them.  He  struck  at  them  blindly, 
instinctively  shielding  his  eyes,  and  arose  to  his  feet  as 
he  groped  onward. 

The  pack  on  his  back,  aside  from  its  weight,  was  a 
thing  of  danger,  for  several  times  it  thrust  against  the 
wall  and  lost  him  his  balance,  threatening  him  with  in- 
stant destruction;  but  each  time  he  managed  to  save 
himself  by  a  frantic  twist  and  plunge  to  his  hands  and 
knees,  clawing  at  the  precarious  footing  with  fingers 
and  toes. 

At  one  place  he  lay  prostrate  for  several  minutes 
before  his  will,  shaking  off  the  lethargy  which  numbed 
him,  sent  him  on  again.  And  the  spur  which  awakened 
his  dulled  senses  proved  that  his  frantic  haste  was  jus- 
tified; for  a  sharp,  venomous  whine  overhead  was  fol- 
lowed by  the  flat  impact  of  lead  on  rock,  and  a  handful 
of  shale  and  small  bits  of  stone  showered  down  upon 
him.  The  faint,  whip-like  report  in  the  valley  did  not 

223 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


penetrate  his  roaring  ears,  for  now  all  he  could  think 
of  was  the  edge  of  the  butte  fifty  feet  above  him. 

Never  had  such  a  distance  seemed  so  great,  so  im- 
possible to  master.  It  seemed  as  though  ages  passed 
before  he  clawed  at  the  rim  and  flung  himself  over  it 
in  one  great,  despairing  effort  and  fell,  face  down  and 
sprawling,  upon  the  carpet  of  grass  and  flowers.  Down 
in  the  valley  the  persistent  reports  ceased,  but  he  did 
not  know  it;  and  an  hour  passed  before  he  sat  up  and 
looked  around,  dazed  and  faint.  Arising,  he  staggered 
to  the  pool  where  Pepper  waited  for  him  at  the  end  of 
her  taut  picket  rope. 

The  water  was  bitter  from  concentration,  but  it 
tasted  sweeter  to  him  than  anything  he  ever  had  drunk- 
He  dashed  it  over  his  face,  unmindful  of  the  increased 
smarting  of  the  stings  and  scratches.  Resting  a  few 
minutes,  he  went  to  the  top  of  the  easier  trail,  up 
which  he  had  led  the  horse,  and  saw  a  man  creeping 
along  it  near  the  bottom ;  but  the  rustler  fled  for  shelter 
when  Johnny's  Sharp's  suggested  that  the  trail  led  to 
sudden  death. 

Having  served  the  notice  he  lay  quietly  resting  and 
watching.  The  heat  of  the  canyon  was  gone  and  he 
reveled  in  the  crisp  coolness  of  the  breeze  which  fanned 
him.  As  he  rested  he  considered  the  situation,  and 
found  it  good  He  was  certain  that  no  man  would  be 
fool  enough  to  attempt  the  way  he  had  come  while  an 

224 


Treed 


enemy  occupied  the  top  of  the  butte;  the  trail  up  the 
north  side  could  easily  be  defended;  the  other  Twin, 
easy  rifle  range  away,  was  lower  than  the  one  he  occu- 
pied and  would  not  be  much  of  a  menace  if  he  were 
careful;  he  had  water  in  plenty,  food  and  ammunition 
for  two  weeks,  and  there  was  plenty  of  water  and  grass 
for  the  horse. 

Safe  as  the  butte  was,  he  cheerfully  damned  the  ne- 
cessity which  had  driven  him  out  of  the  canyon:  the 
question  of  sleep.  Dodging  and  outwitting  four  men 
during  his  waking  hours  would  not  have  been  an  im- 
possible task;  but  it  only  would  have  been  a  matter  of 
time  before  they  would  have  caught  him  asleep  and 
helpless. 

Returning  to  the  pool,  he  saw  how  closely  Pepper 
had  cropped  the  grass  within  the  radius  of  the  picket 
rope,  changed  the  stake  and  then  built  a  fire,  worrying 
about  the  scarcity  of  fuel.  Since  he  could  not  afford 
to  waste  the  wood  he  cooked  a  three-days  supply  of 
food. 

Eating  a  hearty  meal,  he  made  mud-plasters  and  ap- 
plied them  to  the  swollen  stings,  binding  them  in  place 
by  strips  torn  from  an  undershirt,  and  then  he  sought 
the  shade  of  the  ledge  by  the  pool  for  a  short  sleep, 
which  he  would  have  to  snatch  at  odd  times  during  the 
day  so  as  to  be  awake  all  night,  which  would  be  the 
time  of  greatest  danger. 

225 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

AT  BAY 

IT  WAS  late  in  the  afternoon  when  he  awakened 
from  a  sleep  which  had  been  sound  despite  the 
stings.  Removing  the  plasters  he  made  a  tour  of  the 
plateau,  satisfying  himself  that  there  was  really  only 
one  way  up  and  that  the  rustlers  were  not  trying  to  get 
to  him.  Returning  to  the  camp,  he  filled  a  hollow  in  the 
rock  floor  with  water,  bathed,  put  on  his  other  change 
of  clothes,  and  then  made  a  supper  of  cold  beans  and 
bacon*  Filling  another  hollow,  he  pushed  his  soiled 
clothes  in  it  to  soak  over  night. 

When  he  passed  a  break  in  the  rampart-like  wall 
near  the  top  of  the  trail,  which  at  that  point  shot  up 
several  feet  above  the  top  of  the  butte,  a  bullet 
screamed  past  his  head,  so  close  that  he  felt  the  wind  of 
it.  Peering  cautiously  across  the  canyon  he  saw  a  thin 
cloud  of  smoke  lazily  rising  over  the  top  of  a  huge, 
black  lava  bowlder  on  the  crest  of  the  other  butte.  A 
head  was  just  disappearing  and  he  jerked  his  rifle  to  his 
shoulder  and  fired. 

"  Five  hundred  an'  a  little  more,'*  he  muttered.  "  I 
got  it  now,  you  wall-eyed  thief! " 

Another  puff  of  smoke  burst  out  from  the  lower  edge 

226 


At  Bay 

of  the  lava  bowlder,  the  bullet  striking  the  rampart 
below  him.  His  reply  was  instantaneous,  and  was  di- 
rected at  a  light  spot  which  ducked  instantly  out  of 
sight,  just  a  little  too  quickly  to  be  hit  by  the  bullet, 
which  tossed  a  fine  spray  of  dust  into  the  air  and  put  a 
leaden  streak  where  the  face  had  been.  He  fired  again, 
this  time  at  the  other  side  of  the  bowlder,  where  he 
thought  he  saw  another  moving  white  spot,  and  he 
thought  right. 

After  a  quick  glance  down  the  trail,  Johnny  took  a 
position  a  hundred  yards  to  the  left,  trying  to  find  a 
place  where  he  could  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  hostile 
marksman.  But  Fleming  had  a  torn  and  bloody  ear 
and  a  great  respect  for  the  man  on  the  southern  Twin, 
and  henceforth  became  wedded  to  caution.  Curiosity 
was  all  very  well,  but  his  was  thoroughly  satisfied,  and 
discretion  meant  a  longer  life  of  sinful  activities. 

"I  had  my  look,  three  of  'em,"  growled  Fleming. 
"An*  three  looks  are  enough  for  any  man,"  he  added 
quizzically,  binding  up  his  bloody  ear  with  a  soiled 
and  faded  neckerchief,  which  should  have  given  him 
blood-poisoning,  but  did  not. 

"  Now  that  we  got  him  treed,  there  ain't  no  use  goin' 
on  th'  rampage  an'  gettin'  all  shot  up  tryin'  to  get  him. 
All  we  got  to  do  is  wait,  an'  get  him  when  he  has  to 
come  down.  It'll  be  plumb  easy  when  he  makes  his 
break.  A  man  like  him  is  too  cussed  handy  with  his 

227 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


gun  for  anybody  to  go  an1  get  reckless  with.  If  we 
keep  one  man  near  th'  bottom  of  that  trail,  he's  our 
meat.  I  don't  know  how  he  ever  got  up  that  scratch 
on  th*  wall ;  but  I'll  bet  there  ain't  a  man  livin'  that  can 
go  down  it." 

Johnny  grew  tired  of  watching  for  Fleming,  and 
wriggling  back  to  where  he  could  safely  get  on  his  feet 
he  arose  and  made  the  rounds  again.  When  he  reached 
the  place  where  he  had  floundered  over  the  edge  to 
safety  he  critically  examined  the  faint  trail  from  cover, 
and  the  more  he  saw  of  it  the  more  he  regarded  his 
ascent  as  a  miracle. 

"  Only  a  fool  would  'a'  tried  it,"  he  grinned.  "  It's 
somethin'  a  man  can  do  once  in  a  hundred  times;  only 
he's  got  to  make  it  th'  very  first  time,  or  th'  other 
ninety-nine  will  shore  be  lost.  I'll  never  forget  it,  not 


never." 


Watching  a  while,  he  wondered  if  it  were  guarded, 
and  grinned  at  the  foolishness  of  the  idea;  but  he 
slowly  pushed  his  sombrero  out  around  a  rock  to  find 
out.  An  angry  spang!  and  a  wailing  in  the  sky  told 
him  the  answer.  The  flat  report  in  the  valley  became  a 
mutter  along  the  distant  hills. 

"  Good  shootin',"  he  grunted.  "  Glad  you  was  out 
of  breath,  or  excited,  or  somethin'  this  mornin'." 

Back  at  the  top  of  the  other  trail  he  found  two  large 
rocks  lying  close  together  near  the  edge,  and  he  crawled 

228 


At  Bay 

behind  them  and  peered  out  through  the  narrow  open- 
ing for  a  closer  look  at  the  canyon. 

It  was  a  chaos,  dotted  with  bowlders  of  granite, 
sandstone,  and  lava,  some  of  them  as  large  as  small 
houses,  their  tops  on  a  level  with  the  tops  of  the  near- 
est trees.  It  was  cut  by  rock  ridges,  great  backbones 
of  stone  that  defied  Time;  and  dotted  with  heavily 
wooded  draws  which  extended  up  to  the  foot  of  the 
great  pile  of  detritus  embracing  the  foot  of  the  buttes. 
Down  its  lowest  levels  ran  a  zigzag  streak  of  bright, 
clean  rock,  the  water-swept  path  of  the  torrents  sent 
roaring  down  by  melting  snows  and  an  occasional 
cloud-burst.  Several  pools,  fed  by  a  dark  trickle  of 
water  from  the  springs  back  in  the  upper  reaches,  could 
be  seen.  Of  timber  there  was  plenty,  heavy  growths  of 
pine  extending  ffom  the  edge  of  the  creek  bed  to  the 
edge  of  the  detritus,  with  here  and  there  an  opening 
made  by  the  avalanches  which  had  cut  into  the  greenery 
for  short  distances.  At  other  places  even  the  stubborn 
pines  could  not  find  a  grip,  and  a  thinning  out  of  the 
growth  let  him  see  the  rocky  skeleton  below;  but  these 
were  so  few  that  he  easily  memorized  their  positions. 
Trouble  would  come  a-winging  to  any  careless  rustler 
who  blundered  out  onto  any  of  them. 

The  opposite  butte  took  his  attention  and  he  mar- 
veled at  it.  Under  its  lava  cap  and  the  great  layer 
of  the  limestones  was  a  greater  layer  of  clay  and  shale 

229 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


and  the  softer  sandstones.  These  had  been  harassed 
and  battered  by  the  winds  and  rains  and  frosts  of  ages 
and  the  resulting  erosion  had  chiseled  out  wonderful 
bits  of  natural  sculpturing.  At  one  place  he  could  see, 
and  with  no  very  great  strain  upon  his  imagination,  part 
of  a  massive  building  with  its  great  buttresses,  where  a 
harder,  more  enduring  streak  of  rock  had  offered 
greater  resistance  to  the  everlasting  assaults. 

Farther  to  the  right  was  a  wonderful  collection  of 
columns  and  pinnacles,  and  some  of  the  openings  be- 
tween them  ran  back  until  shrouded  in  darkness ;  great 
caverns  in  which  houses  could  be  built. 

As  the  sun  sank  lower  the  shadow  effect  was  beauti- 
ful, and  even  Johnny's  practical  mind  was  impressed 
by  it.  The  color  effect  he  had  seen  before  —  the 
streaks  of  black,  gray,  red,  green,  maroon,  and  white. 
Bits  of  crystal  and  quartz  were  set  afire  by  the  sun's 
slanting  rays  and  some  of  them  almost  dazzled  him. 

To  the  west  the  sky  was  a  blaze  of  color  and  the 
lengthening  shadows  made  an  ever-changing  picture. 
Below  him  the  dusk  was  beginning  to  shroud  the  bot- 
tom of  the  canyon,  creeping  higher  and  higher  as  the 
minutes  passed.  To  see  better,  he  wriggled  closer  to 
the  edge,  and  a  venomous  whine  passed  over  his  head 
to  die  out  swiftly  in  the  air. 

"  Huh ! "  he  grunted.  "  Fine  target  I  must  V  been 
for  that  thief  down  there,  with  such  a  sky  behind  me. 

230 


At  Bwy 

I've  got  to  remember  things  up  here,  or  I'll  lose  my 
rememberer.  I'm  on  a  skyline  that  is  a  skyline.  An' 
I  ain't  goin'  to  answer  every  fool  that  cuts  loose  at  me, 
neither.  I  got  plenty  of  cartridges,  but  I  won't  have  if 
I  start  gettin'  foolish  with  'em.  An'  before  dark  I'm 
goin'  to  rustle  me  a  blanket;  it's  gettin'  cooler  by 
jumps." 

He  made  another  visit  to  the  south  side  of  the  butte 
for  a  glance  down  the  trail  of  misery,  and  then  dis- 
missed it  from  his  mind.  In  view  of  his  experiences 
with  it  in  daylight,  he  knew  that  no  human  being  could 
climb  it  in  the  dark. 

"  It's  as  safe,  day  an'  night,  as  if  Red  or  Hoppy  was 
layin'  right  here  —  an'  that's  plenty  good  enough  for 
me,M  he  smiled.  "William,  Junior's,  bobcat  kitten 
won't  never  grow  big  enough  to  climb  that  place  —  an' 
it's  th*  only  thing  on  earth  that  he  can't  climb,  blast 
him!" 

Returning  to  his  camp  he  had  a  drink  and  a  smoke, 
and  then,  taking  up  a  blanket  and  a  pan  of  cold  beans, 
he  went  to  the  head  of  the  trail,  there  to  keep  a  long 
and  wearisome  vigil. 

Darkness  had  descended  when  he  reached  his  chosen 
spot,  and  wrapping  the  blanket  around  him  he  sat 
down  cross-legged,  laid  his  rifle  near  him,  and  leaned 
back  against  a  rock  to  watch  the  trail  and  wait  for  day- 
light. Faint,  long-drawn,  quavering,  came  the  howl  of 

231 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


a  wolf,  and  from  a  point  below  him  in  the  blackness 
of  the  canyon  a  cougar  screamed  defiance.  He  was 
surprised  by  the  clearness  with  which  occasional  sounds 
came  up  to  him,  for  he  distinctly  heard  the  crack  of 
dead  wood  where  some  careless  foot  trod,  and  he  heard 
a  voice  ask  who  had  the  second  shift  on  the  south  side 
of  the  butte. 

uTurn  in,"  came  the  answer.  uWe  ain't  watchin' 
that  side  no  more.  You  relieve  me  at  midnight,  an1 
don't  forget  it!" 

For  some  time  he  had  been  hearing  strange,  drag- 
ging sounds  which  seemed  to  come  from  the  foot  of 
the  trail;  and  had  been  fooled  into  believing  that  an 
attack  was  under  way.  Then  several  low  crashes  gave 
him  the  distance,  and  he  again  leaned  back  against  the 
rock,  slipping  the  Colt  into  its  holster. 

A  tiny  point  of  light  sprang  up  in  the  darkness, 
whisked  behind  a  bowlder  as  he  reached  for  his  rifle, 
and  grew  rapidly  brighter.  Then  it  soared  into  the  air 
and  curved  toward  the  foot  of  the  trail,  and  almost 
instantly  became  a  great,  leaping  flame  which  soon  lit 
up  the  trail,  the  towering  walls  of  the  buttes,  and  the 
glistening  bowlders  in  the  canyon. 

He  stared  at  it  and  then  laughed.  "They  ain't  sat- 
isfied with  watchin'  th'  trail  an'  listenin'  with  both  ears, 
but  they  has  to  light  it  up  I  There  ain't  no  danger  what- 
ever of  me  tryin'  to  get  down  now;  an'  I'd  like  to  see 

232 


At  Bay 

anybody  try  to  get  up  it  while  that  fire's  burninM 
They're  shore  kind  to  me." 

"  You  be  careful  an'  keep  it  out  of  th'  brush,"  warned 
a  faint  voice.  "  If  she  catches,  this  canyon  will  be  a 
little  piece  of  h — 1.  Everything  so  dry  it  rustles." 

"Ain't  you  turned  in  yet?"  demanded  the  guard. 
"  You  never  mind  about  th'  fire.  You  get  to  sleep ;  an' 
you  get  awake  again  at  twelve." 

"Huh!"  came  the  laughing  retort.  "We  can  all 
go  to  sleep  while  that's  blazin'.  Go  gnaw  yore  bone 
an'  quit  growlin'." 

Johnny  laughed  loudly,  derisively.  "  I  may  set  it  on 
fire  myself! "  he  jeered.  "An'  if  I  don't,  th'  rainy  sea- 
son is  purty  near  due  —  an*  when  it  comes  you'll  need 
a  boat.  Fine  lot  of  man-hunters  you  are.  All  you  can 
shoot  is  boots  an*  skunks !  " 

A  flash  split  the  darkness,  and  the  canyon  tossed  the 
report  from  side  to  side  as  though  loath  to  let  it  die. 
When  the  reverberations  softened  to  a  rolling  mutter 
he  jeered  the  marksman  and  called  him  impolite  names'. 
The  angry  retort  was  quite  as  discourteous  and  pleased 
him  greatly. 

An  hour  passed,  and  then  Johnny  arose  and  crept 
softly  down  the  trail,  hugging  the  rock  wall  closely. 
When  he  reached  a  small  pile  of  broken  branches, 
caught  in  a  fissure,  he  gathered  an  armful  and  carried 
them  up  on  the  butte.  F»tewood  was  too  scarce  for  him 

233 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


to  neglect  any  opportunities.  A  second  trip  enabled 
him  to  find  a  few  scattered  pieces  and  they  were  added 
to  his  store.  Then  he  went  to  his  horse,  removed  the 
picket  rope,  and  going  to  the  edge  of  the  cliff  at  a  spot 
over  the  trail  he  tied  one  end  of  the  rope  around  a  rock 
and  lowered  the  rest  of  it  over  the  rim.  Another  trip 
down  the  trail  was  necessary  to  make  the  free  end  fast 
to  a  dead  fir  that  lay  along  the  wall,  and  having  tied  it 
securely  he  slipped  back  to  the  plateau,  hurried  to 
the  rope  and  pulled  on  it  in  vain.  Try  as  he  might  he 
could  raise  only  one  end  of  the  log. 

"  Cuss  it !  "  he  grunted ;  then  he  grinned  and  whistled 
a  clear  note.  A  few  minutes  passed  and  soft  hoof- 
beats  came  slowly  nearer.  Then  a  black  bulk  loomed 
up  beside  him  and  nuzzled  his  neck.  "I  forgot  thj 
saddle/1  he  said.  "You  wait  here,  Dearly  Beloved," 
and  he  slipped  away,  the  horse  following  him. 

They  returned  together  and  Johnny  made  the  line 
fast  to  the  pommel  of  the  saddle,  took  hold  of  it  him- 
self to  show  his  good  will,  and  spoke  to  the  horse. 

"Oh,  you  don't  know  nothin*  about  haulin',  huh?'T 
he  grunted,  dropping  the  rope  and  taking  the  reins. 
"Come  on,  now  —  easy  does  it.  Easy!  Easy!  Keep  it 
there — th*  cussed  thing's  got  stuck  on  thj  edge."  In 
a  moment  he  returned.  "All  right!  Over  she  comes. " 

The  man  at  the  foot  of  the  trail  hurled  more  wood 
*on  the  fire  and  then  tried  a  few  shots  when  the  noise 

234 


At 


above  caught  his  ear.  Then  as  the  flames  shot  up  he 
grunted  a  profane  question  and  stared  at  the  animated 
tree  trunk  which  climbed  sheer  cliffs  in  the  dark. 

"Well,  I'm  cussed!11  he  grumbled.  "Firewood! 
An'  me  lettin'  him  get  down  there  to  tie  that  rope  I  " 

Johnny  peered  over  the  rim  and  noticed  that  the 
flashes  came  from  one  place,  and  getting  his  rifle  he 
kicked  a  few  rocks  over  and  fired  instantly  at  the  an- 
swering flash.  Two  guns  in  the  canyon  awakened  the 
echoes  and  he  stepped  back  to  let  the  whining  lead  pass 
over  his  head. 

"There  I  go!"  he  snorted.  "Wastin'  cartridges 
already!  But  I  wish  —  gosh!  7  got  it!  " 

Grinning  with  elation  he  felt  his  way  along  the  butte 
until  he  was  directly  over  the  fire,  where  he  stopped  and 
began  to  search  for  rocks  and  stones,  and  he  did  not 
cease  until  he  had  quite  a  pile  of  them.  Approaching 
the  rim  he  peered  over  cautiously  and  searched  the  can- 
yon within  the  radius  of  the  firelight,  but  without  avail. 
He  noticed,  however,  that  there  seemed  to  be  a  nest 
of  rocks  and  bowlders  on  the  outer  edge  of  the  circle 
of  illumination  and  he  surmised  that  it  was  there  the 
guards  were  lying.  He  heaved  a  big  stone  and  watched 
it  whiz  through  the  lighted  arc.  It  fell  short  and  he 
tried  again.  The  second  rock  struck  solidly  and  made 
quite  a  noise,  and  choice  bits  of  profane  inquiry  floated 
up  to  him.  Several  more  rocks  evoked  a  sudden  scram- 

235 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


bling  and  more  profanity,  and  a  lurid  bayonet  of  fire 
flashed  from  a  dark  spot 

"  Now  he's  took  to  heavin*  rocks ! "  growled  a 
peeved,  angry  voice.  "  D — d  if  he  ain't  thj  meanest 
cuss  I  ever  saw  I " 

Johnny  threw  a  few  more  missiles  and  a  deep  curse 
replied  from  the  pit  Close  to  the  edge  of  the  wall 
was  a  large  rock,  nicely  balanced.  It  was  the  size  of  a 
small  trunk,  and  a  grin  crept  across  his  face  as  he 
walked  over  to  it  Putting  his  shoulder,  all  his  wiry 
strength,  and  plenty  of  grunts  into  the  task,  he  started 
it  rocking  more  and  more,  and,  catchin^  it  at  the  right 
instant,  he  pushed  it  over  and  rolled  it  to  the  edge, 
where  it  threatened  to  settle  back  and  remain;  but  an- 
other great  effort  rolled  it  slowly  over  the  edge  and  it 
disappeared  as  if  by  magic.  Striking  a  sharp  bulge  in  the 
great  wall  when  about  half  way  down,  it  bounced  out 
in  an  arc;  and  when  it  struck  the  bowlder  pile  it  was  a 
real  success,  judging  from  the  noise  it  made.  The  canyon 
roared  and  seemed  to  shudder  as  the  crash  boomed  out; 
and  the  huge  missile,  shattering  into  hundreds  of  frag- 
ments, lavishly  distributed  itself  through  the  brush  and 
among  the  bowlders  like  a  volley  of  grape. 

Deep  curses  roared  from  the  canyon  and  several 
flashes  of  flame  darted  out. 

"Lay  on  yore  stummicks,  fightin*  mosquitoes,  an* 
heavin1  wood  on  that  fire  at  long  range,  huh?  "  jeered 

236 


At  Bay 

Johnny,  throwing  another  rock.  "These  are  better  at 
night  than  cartridges,  an'  they  won't  run  out.  I'll  give 
you  some  real  troubles.  I  only  wish  I  had  a  bag  of 
yellow-jackets  to  drop  I  " 

Another  jet  of  flame  stabbed  upward,  but  from  a 
new  place,  farther  back;  and  a  voice  full  of  wrath  and 
pain  described  the  man  on  the  butte,  and  with  a  fertile 
imagination. 

"What's  th'  matter  with  you?  An'  what's  all  th' 
hellaballoo?"  indignantly  demanded  another  and  more 
distant  voice.  "  How  can  a  man  sleep  in  such  a  blasted 
uproar?" 

"Shut  up! "  roared  Purdy  with  heat.  "Who  carea 
whether  you  sleep  or  not?  He  cut  my  head  an'  near 
busted  my  arm  with  his  d — d  rocks !  Mebby  you 
think  they  ain't  makin'  good  time  when  they  get  down 
here !  Only  hope  he  stumbles  an'  follers  'em !  " 

"  He's  a  lucky  fool,"  commented  Fleming,  serene  in 
the  security  of  his  new  position.  "  Luckiest  dog  I  ever 


saw." 


"  Lucky !  "  snorted  Purdy.  "Lucky!  Anybody  else 
would  'a'  been  picked  clean  by  th'  ki-yotes  before  now. 
For  a  cussed  fool  playin'  a  lone  hand  he's  doin'  real 
well.  But  we  got  th'  buzzard  where  we  want  him !  " 

"  Lone  hand  nothin',"  grunted  Fleming.  "  Didn't  he 
have  that  drunken  Long  Pete  helpin'  him?" 

Purdy  growled  in  his  throat  and  gently  rubbed  his 

237 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


numbed  arm.  "There's  another.  It  just  missed  th' 
fire.  Say!  Thafs  what  he's  aimin'  at! " 

"  Mebby  he  is,"  snorted  Fleming;  "  but  if  he  is  he's 
got  a  cussed  bad  aim.  Judgin'  from  where  they  landed, 
I  bets  he  was  aimin'  'em  all  at  me.  I  got  four  bits  that 
says  he  wasn't  aimin'  at  no  fire  when  he  thrun  them 
little  ones.  One  of  'em  come  so  close  to  my  head  that 
I  could  hear  th'  white-winged  angels  a-singin'." 

" '  White-winged  angels  a-singin' ! ' "  snorted  Purdy. 
"H — 1  of  a  chance  you'll  ever  have  of  hearin'  white 
angels  sing.  Yore  spiritual  ears'll  hear  steam  a-sizzlin', 
an'  th'  moans  of  th'  damned;  an'  yore  spiritual  red 
nose  will  smell  sulphur  till  th'  stars  drop  out." 

"I'm  backin'  Purdy,"  said  the  distant  voice.  "They 
don't  let  no  skunk  perfume  get  past  th'  Golden  Gates." 

"They  won't  let  any  of  you  in  hell,"  jeered  a  clear 
voice  from  above.  ;<  You'll  swing  between  th'  two 
worlds  like  pendulums  in  eternity.  Cow-thieves  are 
barred." 

A  profane  duet  was  his  answer,  and  he  listened 
closely  as  Holbrook's  voice  was  heard.  "Say!"  he 
growled,  killing  mosquitoes  with  both  hands  and  sitting 
up  behind  his  bowlder.  "  Can't  you  hold  yore  pow- 
wow somewhere  else?  Want  him  to  heave  rocks  all 
night?  How  can  I  sleep  with  all  that  racket  goin'  on? 
Yo're  near  as  bad  as  these  singin'  blood-suckers;  an* 
who  was  it  that  kicked  me  in  th'  ribs  just  now?  " 

238 


At  Bay 

"  If  you  wouldn't  sprawl  out  in  a  natural  path  an* 
take  up  th'  earth  you  wouldn't  get  kicked  in  th'  ribs  1  " 
snapped  Fleming. 

"Yo're  a  fine  pair  of  doodle-bugs,"  sneered  Hoi- 
brook,  sighing  wearily  as  he  arose.  He  lowered  his 
voice.  "  Here  he  is  over  this  end  of  th'  trail  an'  givin' 
you  a  fine  chance  to  sneak  up  an'  bushwhack  him ;  an'  all 
you  do  is  dodge  rocks,  cuss  yore  fool  luck,  an'  kick 
folks  in  th'  ribs.  Don't  you  know  an  opportunity  when 
you  see  one?" 

"Is  this  an  opportunity?"  mumbled  Purdy  sarcas- 
tically, rubbing  his  arm  and  fighting  mosquitoes. 

"With  that  fire  showing  up  everything  for  rods?" 
softly  asked  Fleming  with  heavy  irony.  "Who's  been 
puttin'  loco  weed  in  yore  grub?" 

"'Tain't  loco  weed,"  growled  Purdy.  "It's  red- 
eye. He  drinks  it  like  it  was  water." 

"No  such  luck,"  retorted  Holbrook;  "not  while 
yo're  around.  It  ain't  no  opportunity  if  yo're  aimin* 
to  have  a  pe-rade  past  th'  fire,"  he  continued  in  a  harsh 
whisper;  "but  it  shore  was  a  good  one  if  you  had  cut 
down  through  th'  canyon  a  couple  of  rods  below  th* 
end  of  th'  trail,  an'  then  climbed  up  to  it  an'  stuck  close 
to  th'  wall.  You  could  'a'  been  up  there  now,  a-layin' 
for  him  when  he  went  back  on  guard.  It's  cussed  near 
as  simple  as  you  are." 

"  You  must  'a'  read  that  in  that  joke  book  what  come 

239 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


with  th'  last  bottle  of  liniment,"  derided  Purdy.  "  Fine, 
healthy  target  a  man  would  make  if  he  didn't  get  over 
th'  top  in  time!  Lovely  job!  You  must  think  he's  a 
fool." 

"  Don't  be  too  sarcastic  with  him,  Purdy,"  chuckled 
Fleming.  "He  does  real  well  for  a  man  that  thinks 
with  his  feet." 

"You  fellers  make  me  tired!"  muttered  Holbrook 
in  sudden  decision  as  another  rock  flew  into  pieces  on  a 
bowlder  and  rattled  through  the  brush.  "  I'd  just  as 
soon  get  shot  on  a  good  gamble  as  die  from  these 
whinin'  leeches.  I'm  all  bumps,  an'  every  bump  itches 
like  blazes.  I  never  thought  there  was  so  many  of 
'em  on  earth.  You  watch  me  go  up  there  —  an'  covef 
me  if  you  can.  Jeer  at  him  an*  keep  him  up  there 
heavin'  rocks  as  long  as  you  can." 

"  Watch  you  ?  "  grunted  Purdy.  "  That's  just  what 
I'm  aimin'  to  do.  I'm  aimin'  to  watch  you  do  it.  We 
don't  have  to  take  chances  like  that.  His  grub  will 
run  out  an'  make  him  come  down.  Time  is  no  object 
to  us.  We  can  afford  to  wait." 

"You  can't  do  it,  Frank,"  said  Fleming,  dogmat- 
ically, ducking  low  as  another  rock  smashed  itself  to 
pieces  against  a  bowlder. 

"Huh!"  snorted  Holbrook,  picking  up  his  rifle  and 
departing. 

His  friends  chose  their  positions  judiciously  and 

240 


At  Bay 

shouted  insults  at  the  man  on  the  butte;  and  after  a 
few  minutes  they  saw  Holbrook,  bent  double,  dart 
swiftly  across  a  little  open  space,  disappear  into  the 
brush  and  emerge  into  sight  again,  vague  and  shadowy, 
near  the  base  of  the  wall  a  dozen  yards  below  the  end 
of  the  trail.  He  crept  slowly  over  a  patch  of  detritus 
which  sloped  up  to  the  wall,  and  began  his  climb,  which 
was  not  as  easy  a  task  as  he  had  believed. 

The  wall,  eroded  where  rotting  stone  had  crumbled 
away  in  layers,  was  a  series  of  curving  bulges,  each 
capped  by  and  ending  in  an  out-thrust  ledge.  He  for- 
sook his  rifle  on  the  second  ledge  and  went  slowly,  dog- 
gedly upward,  but  despite  all  his  care  to  make  no  noise, 
he  dislodged  pebbles  and  chunks  of  rotten  stone  and 
shale  which  lay  thick  upon  the  rocky  shelves.  When 
half  way  up  he  paused  to  search  out  hand  and  foot 
holds  and  became  suddenly  enraged  at  the  amount  of 
time  he  was  consuming;  and  he  realized,  uneasily,  that 
he  had  heard  no  more  crashing  rocks.  The  knowledge 
sent  caution  to  the  winds  and  drove  him  at  top  speed, 
and  it  also  robbed  him  of  some  of  the  jaunty  assurance 
which  had  urged  him  to  his  task.  Fear  of  the  ridicule 
and  the  jeers  of  his  sarcastic  friends  now  became  a  more 
compelling  motive  than  the  hope  of  success;  and  he 
writhed  and  stretched,  twisted,  clawed,  and  scrambled 
upward  with  an  angry,  savage  determination  which  he 
would  have  characterized  as  "bull-headed"  in  anyone 

241 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


else.  Then  another  smashing  rock  revived  his  hopes 
and  made  him  strain  with  renewed  strength. 

At  last  his  fingers  gripped  the  crumbling  sandstone 
of  the  trail's  edge  and  by  a  fine  display  of  strength  and 
agility  he  swung  himself  over  it  and  rolled  swiftly 
across  the  slanting  ledge  to  the  base  of  the  wall,  where 
he  arose  to  his  feet  and  leaped  up  the  precarious  path. 
The  ascent  was  twelve  hundred  feet  long  and  it  swept 
upward  at  a  grade  which  defied  anyone  to  dash  along 
it  for  any  distance.  Walking  rapidly  would  have  taxed 
to  the  utmost  a  man  in  the  pink  of  condition ;  and  his 
pedal  exercise  for  years  had  been  mostly  confined  to 
walking  to  his  horse. 

The  footing  was  far  from  satisfactory  and  demanded 
close  scrutiny  in  daylight,  while  in  the  dark  it  was  a 
desperate  gamble  except  when  attempted  at  a  snail's 
pace.  Ridges,  crevices,  stones,  pebbles,  drifts  of  shale 
and  rotten  stone,  treacherous  in  their  obedience  to  the 
law  of  gravity  when  the  pressure  of  a  foot  started 
them  sliding  toward  the  edge  of  the  abyss;  places  where 
the  soft  sandstone  had  split  in  great  masses  and  dropped 
into  the  canyon,  taking  parts  of  the  trail  with  them  and 
leaving  only  broken,  narrow  ledges  of  the  same  rotten 
stone,  all  these  conspired  to  make  him  use  up  precious 
minutes. 

Below  him  to  his  right  lay  a  sheer  drop  of  two  hun- 
dred feet ;  above  him  towered  the  massive  wall ;  behind 

242 


At  Bay 


him  and  unable  to  help  him,  were  his  friends,  and  the 
fire,  which  was  not  bright  enough  to  let  him  see  the 
footing,  but  too  bright  for  his  safety  in  another  way; 
before  him  stretched  the  heart-breaking  trail,  steep, 
seemingly  interminable,  leading  to  the  top  of  the  butte, 
where  the  silence  was  ominous,  for  somewhere  up  there 
was  an  expert  shot  defending  his  life.  He  had  heard 
no  more  crashing  rocks,  and  the  insults  of  his  friends 
had  not  been  answered;  and  to  hear  such  an  answer  or 
the  crash  of  a  rock  he  would  have  given  his  season's 
profits. 

He  paused  for  breath  more  frequently  with  each 
passing  minute  and  his  feet  were  like  weights  of  lead, 
the  muscles  in  his  legs  aching  and  nearly  unresponsive. 
He  was  paying  for  the  speed  he  had  made  in  the  be- 
ginning. 

The  great  wall  curved  slightly  outward  now  and  he 
hugged  it  closely  as  he  groped  onward,  and  soon 
emerged  from  its  shadow  to  become  silhouetted  against 
the  fire  below.  And  then  a  spurt  of  flame  split  the 
darkness  above  him  and  a  shriek  passed  over  his  head 
and  died  out  below  as  the  roar  of  the  heavy  rifle  awoke 
crashing  echoes  in  the  canyon. 

Below  him  lurid  jets  of  fire  split  the  darkness  and 
singing  lead  winged  through  the  air  with  venomous 
whines,  which  arose  to  a  high  pitch  as  they  passed  him 
and  died  out  in  the  sky.  He  knew  that  his  friends 

243 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


were  firing  well  away  from  the  wall,  but  he  cursed  them 
for  the  mistakes  they  might  make.  Another  flash 
blazed  above  him,  and  the  sound  of  the  lead  and  the 
roar  of  the  gun  told  him  that  his  enemy  was  now  using 
a  Colt.  Ordinarily  this  would  have  given  him  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  satisfaction,  for  everyone  knows  that 
while  a  rifle  is  effective  at  such  a  range,  a  hit  with  a 
revolver  is  largely  a  matter  of  luck;  but  as  he  leaped 
back  into  a  handy  recess  a  second  bullet  from  the  Colt 
struck  the  generous  slack  of  his  trousers  and  burned  a 
welt  on  that  portion  of  his  anatomy  where  sitting  in  a 
saddle  would  irritate  the  most.  It  was  a  lucky  shot, 
but  Holbrook  was  too  much  of  a  pessimist  at  that  mo- 
ment to  derive  any  satisfaction  from  the  knowledge. 

"I'm  in  a  h — 1  of  a  pickle!"  he  growled  as  the 
shadows  of  the  recess  folded  about  him.  "  I  can't  go 
up,  an'  I  can't  go  down  —  I  can't  even  sit  down.  I  got 
to  wait  till  that  fire  dies  out — an'  suppose  they  don't 
let  it  die?  Five  minutes  more  an'  I  would  have  won 
out." 

"  Hey,  Frank !    Are  you  all  right  ?  "  asked  a  voice. 

"  That's  Fleming,  th'  fool,"  growled  Holbrook.  "  I 
suppose  he  wants  me  to  step  out  on  th'  edge  of  the 
platform  an'  speak  a  piece  for  him." 

A  laugh  rang  out  at  the  head  of  the  trail.  "  Answer 
th'  gentleman,"  said  Johnny  in  a  low  voice,  fully  appre- 
ciating Holbrook's  feelings.  "Don't  it  beat  all  how 

244 


At  Bay 

some  folks  allus  pick  th'  wrong  time  in  their  yearnin* 
for  conversation?  I've  been  there;  more'n  once.  You 
promise  to  go  down  an'  give  him  a  lickin'  an'  I  won't 
pull  a  trigger  on  you  while  yo're  on  th'  trail ! " 

"Hey,  Frank!     Oh,  Frank!"  persisted  Fleming. 

"Tell  him  to  shut  up,"  chuckled  Johnny.  "Here, 
I'll  do  it  for  you:  Hello!"  he  shouted.  "Hello,  you 
loquacious  fool !  Frank  says  for  you  to  shut  up !  " 

Fleming's  retort  was  unkind. 

"  Frank  says  he  ain't  smelled  no  skunk  since  he  left 
th'  canyon !  "  jeered  Johnny.  "  Don't  you  get  up-wind 
of  me!" 

Fleming's  retort  was  even  more  unkind. 

"Hey!"  yelled  Purdy,  cheerfully  "You  ought  to 
'a'  heard  what  Quigley  said  when  Art  odored  into  th' 
house!  Dan'l  Boone  was  scared  it  would  get  in  his 
wounds  an'  poison  him  to  death." 

;<  Yo're  a  sociable  ki-yote !  "  jeered  Fleming. 

Johnny  laughed.  "  I'm  that  sociable  I  carries  callin' 
cards,  like  you  read  about  in  th'  mail-order  catalogues. 
They're  snub-nosed  an'  covered  with  grease,  which  I 
mostly  rubs  off  because  of  th'  sand  stickin'  to  it.  I'm 
'most  as  sociable  as  th'  dogs  that  drove  me  out  of  my 
valley,  burned  my  cabin,  stole  my  cows,  an'  put  me  out 
of  th'  game.  I'm  'most  as  sociable  as  th'  three  skunks 
that  laid  for  me  that  night.  I  told  Quigley  in  Pop 
Hayes'  saloon  what  I'd  do  if  I  was  pestered;  an*  I've 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


been  doin'  it.  An'  I  ain't  through  yet,  neither.  Here's 
one  of  my  cards  now,"  he  jeered,  sending  a  .45  down 
the  trail  to  let  Holbrook  know  that  he  was  not  for- 
gotten. 

"You  stopped  my  play,  an'  stole  my  cows,"  he  said. 
''So  I'm  goin'  to  take  all  them  that  you  got  in  yore 
sink.  When  I  gets  through  /'//  be  th'  owner  of  th'  QE 
ranch,  all  by  myself;  an'  there  won't  be  none  of  you 
left  to  bother  me.  Hoggin'  a  free  country  is  a  game 
two  can  play  at,  an'  you  shore  got  a  good  pupil  when 
you  taught  me  th'  game.  I'm  aimin'  to  set  up  a  record 
for  th'  cow-country.  I  never  heard  tell  of  a  man 
shootin'  off  a  whole  outfit  an'  takin'  their  ranch;  but 
that's  just  what  Fm  goin'  to  do  unless  you  fellers  get 
out  of  th'  country  while  you  can." 

Jeering  laughter  and  ridicule  answered  him;  and 
then  Purdy  had  an  inspiration  and  voiced  it  with  un- 
necessary vigor  and  quite  a  little  pride. 

"  Hey,  Frank ! "  he  yelled.  "  If  yo're  all  right,  heave 
a  rock  over  th'  edge ! " 

There  was  a  moment's  silence  and  then  a  faint  crash 
sounded  in  the  canyon. 

"  There,"  called  Johnny  pleasantly.  "  Does  that  sat- 
isfy you,  or  shall  I  heave  another?  " 

Fluent  swearing  came  from  below,  in  which  Hol- 
brook fervently  joined,  sotto  tuoce>  and  he  heaved  an- 
other rock* 

246 


At  Bay 

Johnny  laughed  loudly.  "There's  another  in  case 
you  didn't  hear  th'  first.  I'm  tellin'  you  about  it  be- 
cause I  don't  want  to  deceive  you.  Mebby  one  of  you 
fellers  would  like  to  sneak  up  here  an'  drag  yore  friend 
down?" 

Holbrook  reviewed  the  situation  and  could  not  see 
that  he  gained  anything  by  keeping  silent. 

"/  heaved  them  rocks  I  "  he  shouted  savagely.  "  I'm 
all  right.  Now  you  put  out  that  fire  an'  gimme  a 
chance.  I  don't  want  to  stay  up  here  forever !  " 

"All  right,  Frank,"  called  a  new  voice,  which 
Johnny  recognized  as  belonging  to  Quigley. 

"  Shore,"  jeered  Johnny.  "  Run  out  an'  kick  it  apart 
an*  smother  it  with  sand,"  he  invited,  reaching  for  his 
rifle.  "But  you  want  to  do  a  good  job.  An'  if  he's 
still  there  at  daylight  you  won't  have  to  bother  about 
him  no  more.  I  mean  business  now.  I  gave  three  of 
you  thieves  yore  lives  th'  night  you  burned  my  cabin; 
but  I'm  shootin'  on  sight  now." 

;t  You  got  too  cussed  much  to  say ! "  snapped  Hol- 
brook angrily. 

"An'  I'll  have  more  to  say  if  yo're  there  at  sunup," 
retorted  Johnny.  "  An'  lemme  tell  you,  fire  or  no  fire, 
you  ain't  down  in  th'  canyon  yet  1 " 

Holbrook  laughed.  "You'll  be  as  savin'  of  yort 
cartridges  as  you  are  of  yore  grub.  How  long  do  you 
reckon  you  can  hold  out?  "  he  sneered. 

247 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


"  It  only  takes  four  bullets  to  clear  a  way  for  me,1* 
retorted  Johnny. 

New  sounds  came  from  the  canyon.  Rock  after  rock 
curved  into  the  arc  of  illumination  and  landed  in  the 
fire,  knocking  it  apart  and  sending  blazing  sticks  flying 
toward  the  wall  of  the  butte.  Quigley  warned  his  men 
to  be  careful  and  not  set  the  brush  on  fire.  There  wa? 
a  sudden  puff  of  steam  and  the  light  dimmed  quickly. 
Several  other  hatfuls  of  water  turned  the  blazing 
embers  into  a  black,  smoking  mass,  where  only  an  occa- 
sional red  speck  showed  in  the  darkness. 

The  trail  was  blotted  out  and  Johnny  sent  a  .45 
whining  along  it.  A  flash  from  below  replied  to  him 
and  he  listened  for  a  sound  which  would  tell  him  that 
Holbrook  had  started  on  the  return  trip.  But  that 
individual,  boots  in  hand,  made  no  noise  as  he  slipped 
along  the  wall.  Coming  to  another  recess,  he  sought 
its  shelter,  tied  the  boots  together  with  his  necker- 
chief, slung  them  over  his  shoulder  and  started  down 
again. 

Quigley  ordered  his  companions  not  to  shoot.  "  You 
might  get  Frank;  an'  he's  in  danger  enough  as  it  is. 
Yore  flash  will  give  that  coyote  a  fair  idea  of  where 
th'  trail  is." 

"  Did  you  hear  what  that  ki-yote  said  about  takin1 
our  ranch?"  asked  Purdy. 

Quigley  laughed.    "  Yes ;  an'  I  admire  his  gall.  He's 


At  Bay 

got  three  of  us,  if  he  got  Ackerman;  but  we  wasn't 
awake  to  his  game  then."  Another  flash  came  from  the 
top  of  the  butte,  and  he  growled  when  he  heard  the 
«pat  of  the  bullet.  "  He  ain't  lost  th'  trail  yet,  but  he's 
puttin'  'em  high." 

"He'd  be  a  handy  man  to  have  around,"  said  Flem- 
ing. "I  wonder  if  he'd  'a'  throwed  in  with  us,  'stead 
of  rustlin'  by  hisself  ?" 

"  I'd  V  found  that  out  if  Ackerman  hadn't  'a'  been 
so  dead  set  ag'in  him,"  grunted  Quigley,  not  refusing 
to  take  credit  for  an  idea  that  was  not  his  own.  "  I 
wonder,"  he  mused. 

"Offer  him  a  share,"  suggested  Purdy.  "If  we 
change  our  minds  later,  that's  our  business.  We're 
losin'  a  lot  of  time  with  him;  too  much." 

There  was  a  sudden  rattle  of  shale  and  pebbles,  low- 
voiced  profanity  and  a  crash  of  breaking  branches. 
"  Cuss  them  rotten  ledges ! "  said  a  voice  not  far  dis- 
tant. "An*  d — n  these  cactus  an'  locusts  1  I  owe  him 
more  than  he  can  ever  square  up,  blast  his  hide! " 

"Thank  th'  Lord,"  muttered  Quigley  in  sudden  re- 
lief. 

"But  mebby  he  is  workin'  for  Logan,"  objected 
Fleming.  "  Hey,  Frank !  Over  here." 

"  If  he  is  it's  about  time  for  th'  CL  to  hunt  him  up," 
Purdy  growled  anxiously.  "We'd  shore  be  in  a  fix  if 
they  caught  us  down  here  I " 

249 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


"  CL  or  no  CL,  we  stays ! "  snapped  Holbrook, 
rounding  a  bowlder  and  swearing  at  every  step.  "  We 
got  him  now ;  an1  we  ain't  goin'  to  let  him  go  1 " 

"Shore!"  endorsed  Quigley.  "They  drove  me  off 
th'  range;  but  I'll  stay  in  these  hills  if  I  dies  for  it. 
Once  we  get  this  feller  out  of  th'  way  an'  get  back  to 
th'  ranch  we  can  put  up  an  awful  fight  from  th'  houses, 
if  we're  forced  to.  They're  stocked  good  enough  to 
last  us  six  fellers  over  four  months.  It's  a  show-down 
for  me,  come  what  might;  but  any  man  can  take  his 
share  of  th'  money  an'  get  away,  if  he  wants." 

Growls  answered  him,  and  he  laughed.  "That's 
th'  way!  Well,  Frank;  now  what  do  you  think  of  th' 
grand  opportunity?" 

"It  was  there;  I  started  too  late!"  snapped  Hol- 
brook angrily.  "  If  Art  an'  Purdy  had  any  sense,  one 
of  'em  would  'a*  jumped  for  that  trail  when  th'  first 
rock  came  down,  instead  of  duckin'  around  these  bowl- 
ders like  a  pair  of  sage  hens.  I  didn't  wake  up  till  th' 
show  was  'most  over ;  an'  I  got  within  a  hundred  yards 
at  that.  Five  minutes  more  an'  I'd  'a'  been  layin'  be- 
hind a  rock  waitin'  for  him  to  come  back.  It  would 
'a'  been  all  over  by  now." 

"Well,  don't  try  it  again,"  said  Quigley.  "He's 
got  all  th'  best  of  it  up  there.  We'll  give  him  a  week 
for  his  grub  to  peter  out  before  we  force  things.  An* 
there  ain't  no  use  of  ill  of  us  stayin'  out  here.  This 

250 


At  Bay 

is  th'  only  way  he  can  come  down.  Two  of  us  out  here 
is  plenty,  takin'  turns  watchin'  th*  trail.  An'  if  you 
keep  a  fire  burnin'  you  both  could  almost  sleep  nights. 
He'd  never  tackle  it.  Purdy,  you  an'  Art  clear  out 
for  th'  ranch  at  daylight.  Me  an'  Holbrook  will  stay 
here  tomorrow  an'  tomorrow  night,  when  you  fellers 
can  relieve  us.  I'd  feel  better,  anyhow,  if  there  was 
somebody  besides  Ben  an'  th'  cook  in  them  houses. 
You  can't  tell  what  might  happen.  It'll  be  light  in  an 
hour,  so  I'll  go  over  an'  start  some  breakfast." 

"Say,  Tom,"  said  Fleming.  "Make  yore  camp  up 
on  th'  other  Twin,  an'  get  out  of  this  cussed  hole  with 
its  heat  an'  its  pests.  Th'  man  off  guard  could  get  a 
real  sleep  up  there.  But,  of  course,  you'll  have  to  do 
th'  cookin'  down  here,  where  there's  water  handy." 

"See  about  that  later,"  answered  Quigley.  "Any-. 
how,  we  can  sleep  up  there  without  shiftin'  th'  camp,'* 
and  he  disappeared  in  the  darkness. 

Fleming  rolled  a  cigarette  by  sense  of  touch  and 
thoughtlessly  struck  a  match.  Spang!  said  a  bowlder 
at  his  side.  Ping-ing-ing-g-g!  sang  the  ricochet  down 
the  canyon. 

"  Put  it  out !  "  yelled  Holbrook,  diving  for  cover. 

"You  d — d  fool!"  sputtered  Purdy  from  behind  a 
pile  of  rocks. 

"Beats  all  how  careless  a  feller  will  get,"  laughed 
Fleming  as  he  slid  behind  a  rock.  "  I  plumb  forgot !" 

251 


CHAPTER  XIX 

AN  UNWELCOME  VISITOR 

DAWN  broke,  and  as  the  light  increased  Holbrook 
saw  a  column  of  smoke  arising  from  the  south- 
ern Twin  like  a  faint  streamer  of  gauze.  A  slender 
pole  raised  and  stood  erect,  and  his  suspicious  mind 
sought  a  reason  for  it. 

"Wonder  if  he's  tryin'  to  signal  somebody?  Long 
Pete !  I  reckon  he  don't  know  Pete's  dead.  He'll  not 
see  him  this  side  of  h — 1,"  he  muttered,  settling  in  a 
more  comfortable  position  to  go  to  sleep. 

The  pole  swayed  as  a  rope  shot  over  it  and  grew 
taut,  and  then  a  faded  shirt,  heavy  with  water,  came 
into  view  and  sagged  the  rope. 

Holbrook  grinned  and  picked  up  his  rifle.  "  Gettin' 
th'  wash  out  early.  An'  he  must  have  plenty  of  water, 
to  waste  it  like  that." 

He  raised  the  sight  a  little  and  tried  again.  "  Can't 
tell  where  they're  goin',"  he  grumbled,  and  tried  the 
third  time.  The  edge  of  the  shirt  flopped  inward  as 
the  garment  momentarily  assumed  the  general  shape 
of  a  funnel. 

"  He  ain't  th1  only  ki-yote  that  can  shoot,"  chuckled 
the  marksman.  "  Fleming  couldn't  'a'  done  any  better'ji 

252 


An  Unwelcome  Visitor 


that.  Bet  he's  mad.  Serves  him  right  for  havin1 
two.  He  ain't  no  better  than  me,  an'  I  only  got  one, 
since  Ackerman  took  my  other  one.  Cuss  it!"  he 
swore,  blinking  rapidly  and  spitting  as  a  sharp  spat/ 
sent  sand  into  his  face. 

He  shifted,  wiped  his  lips,  and  peered  out  at  a  spot 
OR  the  other  butte  where  a  cloud  of  smoke  spread  out 
along  the  ground.  Then  he  poked  his  sombrero  over 
the  breastwork  and  wriggled  it  on  a  stick,  but  waited  in 
vain  for  the  expected  shot 

"  He  ain't  bitin'  today;  an'  he's  savin'  his  cartridges. 
Well,  /  got  plenty;  so  here  goes  for  that  shirt  again." 

Again  the  inoffensive  garment  flopped;  and  then  a 
singing  bullet  passed  squarely  through  Holbrook's  ex- 
pensive  sombrero. 

"  You  stay  down  from  up  there !  "  grunted  Holbrook 
at  the  hat.  "  Plumb  center !  I  got  a  lot  of  respect  for 
that  hombre.  He  got  th'  best  of  th'  swap,  too.  1 
spoiled  a  worn-out  shirt,  an*  he  ventilated  a  twenty  dol- 
lar Stetson.  He  owes  me  a  couple  more  shots ! " 

The  next  shot  missed,  but  the  second  turned  the  shirt 
into  another  funnel. 

"  Hey ! "  shouted  an  angry  voice.  "  What  you  think 
yo'redoin'?" 

Holbrook's  grin  turned  into  a  burst  of  laughter  as 
the  pole  swiftly  descended,  and  he  again  poked  up  his 
hat,  hoping  for  a  miss  and  another  wasted  cartridge; 

253 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


but,  failing  to  draw  a  shot,  he  gave  it  up  and  crawled 
back  to  a  safer  and  more  comfortable  place  where  he 
lay  down  to  get  some  sleep. 

Johnny,  full  of  wrath,  worked  along  the  edge  of 
the  butte  in  a  vain  endeavor  to  catch  sight  of  his  en- 
emy, and  he  took  plenty  of  time  in  his  efforts  to  be 
cautious.  Any  man  who  could  hit  a  shirt  plumb  cen- 
ter and  nearly  every  time,  at  that  distance,  shooting 
across  a  deceptive  canyon  and  against  the  sky,  was  no 
one  to  get  careless  with.  After  waiting  a  while  with- 
out hearing  any  more  from  his  humorous  enemy,  he 
looked  down  each  trail  and  then  went  to  the  other  end 
of  the  butte. 

Not  far  from  him  a  slender  column  of  smoke  arose 
from  a  box-like  depression  which  lay  beyond  a  high 
ridge  and  was  well  protected  from  his  rifle.  Peering 
cautiously  over  the  rim  of  the  butte,  his  head  hidden 
in  a  tuft  of  grass,  he  critically  examined  the  canyon, 
bowlder  by  bowlder,  ridge  by  ridge.  A  puff  of  smoke 
spurted  from  a  pile  of  rocks  and  a  malignant  whine 
passed  over  his  head.  Wriggling  back,  he  hurried  to 
another  point  fifty  yards  to  his  right,  where  he  again 
crept  to  the  edge  and  looked  down.  Another  puff  of 
smoke  and  a  bloody  furrow  across  his  cheek  told  him 
that  the  marksman  had  good  eyes  and  knew  how  to 
shoot.  Johnny  drove  a  Sharp's  Special  into  the  middle 
of  the  smoke  and  heard  an  angry  curse  follow  it. 

254 


An  Unwelcome  Visitor 


"Hey,  Nelson!1'  called  a  peeved  voice  from  thtr 
rocks.  "Nelson!" 

"What  you  belly-achin'  about?'1  demanded  Johnny 
insolently. 

"How'd  you  like  to  join  us  instead  of  fightin'  us?" 

"  Yo're  loco !  "  retorted  Johnny.  "  Can't  you  think 
of  anything  better'n  that?  I  cut  my  eye-teeth  long 
ago." 

"  I  mean  it,"  said  Quigley,  earnestly.  "  Mean  it  all 
th'  way  through.  We  talked  it  over  last  night.  It's 
poor  business  fightin'  each  other  when  we  might  be 
workin'  together.  Laugh  if  you  want  to;  but  lemme 
tell  you  it  ain't  as  foolish  as  you  think.  It's  a  lazy, 
independent  life ;  an'  there's  good  money  in  it.  You'd 
do  better  with  us  than  you'd  'a'  done  alone." 

"I've  shore  fooled  'em!"  chuckled  Johnny  softly. 
Aloud  he  said:  "  I  can't  trust  you,  not  after  what's  hap- 
pened." 

"  I  reckon  you  are  suspicious ;  an'  nobody  can  blame 
you,"  replied  Quigley.  "  But  I  mean  it." 

"Why  didn't  you  make  this  play  when  I  was  in  my 
valley,  pannin'  gold  an*  gettin'  a  little  herd  together?" 
demanded  Johnny.  "  You  knowed  I  wasn't  after  no 
gold;  an'  you  knowed  what  I  was  after.  But  no;  you 
was  hoggin'  th'  earth  an1  too  cussed  mean  to  give  a 
man  a  chance,  an*  make  another  split  in  yore  profits. 
You  burned — oh,  what's  th'  use?  If  you  want  my 

255 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


answer,  stick  yore  head  out  an'  1*11  give  it  to  you 
quick  1" 

"I  know  we  acted  hasty,"  persisted  Quigley; 
"but  some  of  us  was  ag'in  it.  Three  of  'em  are  dead 
now;  Ackerman's  missin'.  We'll  give  you  th'  share 
of  one  of  'em  in  th'  herd  that  we  got  now;  an'  an  equal 
share  of  what  we  get  from  now  on.  That's  fair;  an' 
it  more  than  makes  up  for  yore  cabin  an'  them  six  cows. 
As  far  as  they  are  concerned,  we'll  give  you  all  of  what 
they  bring.  How  about  it?  " 

"Reckon  it's  too  late,"  replied  Johnny.  "I  ain't 
takin'  nobody's  share.  I'm  aimin'  to  take  th'  whole 
layout,  lock,  stock,  an'  barrel.  Why  should  I  give  you 
fellers  any  share  in  it?  What'll  you  give  me  if  I  let 
you  all  clear  out  now?" 

"What  you  mean?"  demanded  Quigley. 

"Just  what  I  said,"  retorted  Johnny.  "There's 
six  of  you  now.  It  ought  to  be  worth  something  to  you 
fellers  to  be  allowed  to  stay  alive.  I'll  throw  off  half 
for  th'  wounded  men  —  let  'em  off  at  half  price.  What 
are  you  fellers  willin'  to  pay  me  if  I  let  you  leave  th' 
country  with  a  cayuse  apiece  an'  all  yore  personal  be- 
longin's?" 

"This  ain't  no  time  for  jokin'!"  snapped  Quigley 
angrily. 

"I  ain't  jokin'  a  bit!  I'll  have  yore  skins  pegged 
out  to  dry  before  I  get  through  with  you.  Yo're  a 

256 


An  Unwelcome  Visitor 


bunch  of  sap-headed  jackasses,  with  no  more  sense 
than  a  sheep-herder.  I'm  'most  ashamed  to  get  you; 
but  I'm  stranglin'  my  shame.  You  pore  mutton- 
heads!" 

Quigley's  language  almost  seared  the  vegetation 
and  he  was  threatened  with  spontaneous  combustion. 
When  he  paused  for  breath  he  swung  his  rifle  up  and 
pulled  the  trigger,  almost  blind  with  rage.  Johnny's 
answering  shot  ripped  through  his  forearm  and  he  felt 
the  awful  sickness  which  comes  when  a  bone  is  scraped. 
Half  fainting,  Quigley  dropped  his  rifle  and  leaned 
back  against  a  rock,  regarding  the  numbed  and  bleed- 
ing arm  with  eyes  which  saw  the  landscape  turning 
over  and  over.  Gathering  his  senses  by  a  great  effort 
of  will,  he  steadied  himself  and  managed  to  make  and 
apply  a  rough  bandage  with  the  clumsy  aid  of  one  hand 
and  his  teeth. 

"  I'll  give  you  till  tomorrow  mornin'  to  make  me  an 
offer,"  shouted  Johnny;  "but  don't  get  reckless  before 
then,  because  th'  temptation  shore  will  be  more  than  I 
can  stand.  Think  it  over." 

"  D — n  his  measly  hide ! "  moaned  Quigley,  his  an- 
ger welling  up  anew.  "  Give  him  our  ranch,  an1  cows, 
an'  pay  him  to  let  us  leave  th'  country !  Six  of  us  I  Six 
gun-fightin',  law-breakin',  cattle-liftin'  cow-punchers; 
sane,  healthy,  an'  as  tough  as  rawhide  rope,  payin'  him, 
a  lone  man  up  a  tree,  to  let  us  leave  th'  country  I  All 

257 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


right,  you  conceited  pup ;  you'll  pay,  an'  pay  well,  for 
that  insult ! " 

He  still  was  indulging  in  the  luxury  of  an  occasional 
burst  of  profanity  when  Holbrook  approached  the 
bowlders  on  his  hands  and  knees. 

"  I'm  still  hungry;  an*  I  can't  sleep  unless  I'm  full  of 
grub,'!  apologized  the  rustler.  "  An'  I  heard  shootin'. 
What's  th'  matter,  Tom?  Yore  language  ain't  fit  for 
innercent  ears ! " 

"Matter?"  roared  Quigley,  going  off  in  another 
flight  of  oratory.  "  Matter  ?  "  he  shouted.  "  Look  at 

this  arm !  An'  listen  to  what  that carrion- 

eatin'  squaw's  dog  of  a had  th' •— 

gall  to  say ! " 

As  the  recital  unfolded  Holbrook  leaned  back 
against  a  rock  and  laughed  until  the  tears  washed  clean 
furrows  through  the  dust  and  dirt  on  his  face ;  and  the 
more  he  laughed  the  more  his  companion's  anger 
arose.  Finally  Quigley  could  stand  it  no  longer,  and 
he  loosed  a  sudden  torrent  of  verbal  fire  upon  his  howl- 
ing friend. 

Holbrook  feebly  wiped  his  eyes  with  the  backs  of 
his  dusty  hands,  which  smeared  the  dirt  over  the  wet 
places  and  gave  him  a  grotesque  appearance. 

"Why  shouldn't  I  laugh?"  he  choked,  and  then  be- 
came indignant.  "Why  shouldn't  I?"  he  demanded. 
"I've  laughed  at  yore  jokes,  Fleming's  stories,  Cook* 

258 


An  Unwelcome  Visitor 


ie's  cookin',  an1  Dan'l  Boone's  windy  lies;  an'  now 
when  something  funny  comes  along  you  want  me  to  be 
like  th'  chief  mourner  at  a  funeral!  I'm  forty  years 
old  an1  I've  met  some  stuck-up  people  in  my  life;  but 
that  fool  up  there  has  got  more  gall  an'  conceit  than 
anybody  I  ever  even  heard  tell  of  1  I'm  glad  /  didn't 
hear  him  say  it,  or  I  shore  would  'a'  laughed  myself 
plumb  to  death.  Did  you  ever  hear  anything  like  it; 
drunk  or  sober,  did  you?  " 

"No,  I  didn't!"  snapped  Quigley.  "An'  if  you've 
got  all  over  yore  nonsense,  suppose  you  take  a  look  at 
my  arm,  an'  fix  this  bandage  right ! " 

"Sorry,  Tom,"  answered  Holbrook  quickly;  "but 
I  was  near  keeled  over.  Here,  gimme  that  arm;  an' 
when  I  get  it  fixed  right,  you  make  a  bee-line  for  th' 
ranch.  There  ain't  no  use  of  you  stayin'  out  here 
with  an  arm  like  that.  Good  Lord !  He  shore  made 
a  mess  of  it!  Them  slugs  of  his  are  awful;  an'  that 
gun  is  th'  worst  /  ever  went  up  ag'in.  7  want  that 
rifle;  an'  I  speaks  for  it  here  an'  now.  When  we  get 
him,  I  get  th'  gun." 

"It's  yourn,"  groaned  Quigley.  "Gimme  a  drink 
of  whiskey  before  I  start  out.  But  I  don't  like  to  leave 
you  to  handle  this  alone.  I  can  stick  it  out." 

"  It's  a  one-man  job  until  somebody  comes  out,"  re- 
sponded Holbrook.  "All  I  got  to  do  is  lay  low  an' 
not  let  him  come  down  that  trail.  A  ten-year-old  kid 

259 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


can  do  that  durin'  daylight.  But  you  ain't  goin'  to  go 
till  you  feel  a  little  better,"  he  ordered,  producing  a 
flask.  "You  wait  a  while — th'  sun  won't  be  hot  for 
a  couple  of  hours  yet  An*  would  you  look  at  th'  mos- 
quitoes! They  must  'a'  smelled  th'  blood.  Here, 
wrap  yore  coat  around  it  or  they'll  pump  it  full  of 
pizen." 

Two  hours  later,  Quigley  having  departed  for  the 
ranch,  Holbrook  lay  on  the  top  of  the  northern  Twin, 
glad  to  have  escaped  from  the  attacks  of  the  winged 
pests  which  had  driven  him  out  of  the  canyon;  and 
hoping  that  his  enemy  would  try  to  take  advantage  of 
the  situation,  if  he  knew  of  it,  and  try  to  escape.  He 
had  decided  that  he  could  guard  the  trail  as  well  from 
the  top  of  the  butte  as  he  could  from  the  canyon,  for 
the  whole  length  of  the  steeply  sloping  path  lay  before 
him.  Cool  breezes  played  about  him,  there  were  nei- 
ther flies,  mosquitoes,  nor  yellow-jackets  to  plague  him, 
and  the  opposite  butte  and  the  whole  canyon  lay  under 
his  eyes.  And  he  also  had  better  protection  than  the 
canyon  afforded,  for  there  was  always  present  a  vague 
uneasiness,  no  matter  how  well  hidden  he  might  be, 
while  his  good-shooting  enemy  was  five  hundred  feet 
above  him.  Food  and  water  were  close  to  his  hand 
and  he  enjoyed  a  smoke  as  he  lazily  sprawled  behind 
his  protecting  breastwork  of  rocks  and  set  himself  the 
{ask  of  keeping  awake  and  alert. 

260 


An  Unwelcome  Visitor 


He  had  seen  no  sign  of  his  enemy,  although  he  had 
closely  scrutinized  every  foot  of  the  opposite  butte. 
Quigley,  he  thought,  must  have  reached  the  ranch  by 
that  time  and  no  doubt  Fleming  or  Purdy  was  on  the 
way  to  relieve  him.  As  he  glanced  along  the  canyon 
in  the  direction  that  his  friend  would  appear  he  saw  a 
movement  of  the  brush  near  the  bottom  of  the  much 
watched  trail  and  he  slid  his  rifle  through  an  opening  be- 
tween the  rocks  covering  the  center  of  the  disturbance. 

It  was  too  early  for  Fleming  or  Purdy,  he  reflected; 
and  his  eyes  narrowed  as  he  wondered  if  it  could  be 
some  friend  of  the  man  he  was  watching. 

The  bushes  moved  again  and  a  grizzled  head  thrust 
out  into  view,  slowly  followed  by  a  pair  of  massive 
shoulders  as  a  great  silver-tip  grizzly  pushed  out  into 
the  little  clearing  where  the  guarding  fire  had  been, 
and  slowly  turned  its  head  from  side  to  side,  sniffing 
suspiciously.  Satisfied  that  there  was  nothing  to  fear, 
it  crossed  the  clearing  and  ripped  the  bark  off  of  a  dead 
and  fallen  tree  trunk,  licking  up  the  grubs  and  the 
scurrying  insects.  Shredding  the  bark  and  thoroughly 
cleaning  up  the  last  of  the  grubs,  it  sat  down  and  lazily 
regarded  the  towering  butte. 

Holbrook  watched  it  with  interest,  for  there  was 
something  almost  human  in  the  great  bear's  actions,  a 
comical  gravity  and  a  deftness  of  paws  which  brought 
a  grin  to  his  face. 

261 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


The  bear  arose  clumsily,  scratched  itself,  and  pro- 
ceeded toward  the  trail  in  that  awkward,  lumbering 
way  which  conveys  such  a  vivid  impression  of  tremen- 
dous strength  and  power.  Holbrook  knew  that  the 
lazy,  clumsy  shuffling,  the  indolent  thrust  of  the 
rounded  shoulders  and  the  slow,  deliberate  reaching 
of  the  great  legs,  the  forefeet  flipping  quickly  for- 
ward, hid  an  amazing,  deceptive  quickness  and  agility, 
and  a  devastating  strength.  Sleepy,  peaceful,  and 
good  natured  as  the  beast  appeared,  its  temper  was  al- 
ways on  edge  and  its  heart  knew  nothing  of  fear  when 
that  temper  was  aroused;  and  he  also  knew  that  the 
vitality  in  that  grub,  insect,  and  berry-fed  body  was 
almost  beyond  belief,  that  a  clean,  heart  shot  would 
not  stop  it  instantly. 

The  animal  waddled  onto  the  trail  and  paused  to 
turn  over  a  rock,  licked  up  a  few  scurrying  bugs  and 
waddled  on  again,  the  great  shoulders  rising  and  fall- 
ing with  each  deliberate  step.  A  pause,  and  the  red 
tongue  wiped  out  a  procession  of  hard-working  ants, 
and  again  it  lumbered  upward. 

"Nelson  is  due  to  have  company;  an'  plenty  of  it!" 
chuckled  Holbrook;  "an1  if  he  slides  any  lead  into  th* 
wrong  place  under  that  flea-bitten  hide  he'll  find  that 
butte  is  a  cussed  lot  smaller  than  he  ever  thought  it 
was.  Ah-ha!  Cussed  if  th'  yellow-jackets  ain't  de- 
clarin'  war  on  him !  Just  wait  till  his  snout  gets  weD 

262 


An  Unwelcome  Visitor 


stung,  an'  he'll  be  ready  an'  eager  to  fight  anything 
that  lives!" 

The  bear  was  moving  swiftly  now,  but  pausing  fre- 
quently to  scrape  his  smarting  snout  with  one  paw  or 
the  other,  and  it  was  beginning  to  show  signs  of  irri- 
tation as  the  swarming  yellow-jackets  warmed  to  the 
attack. 

"  Gettin'  riled  more  every  minute ! "  grinned  Hoi- 
brook.  "I'd  hate  to  run  foul  of  him  now!  Mr.  Nel- 
son shore  is  goin'  to  have  a  grand  an'  busy  little  seance 
up  there,  unless  that  Sharp's  of  his  gets  home  plumb 
center  th'  first  crack.  He'll  mebby  wish  it  was  a  re- 
peater. That  old  varmint  must  be  nine  feet  long,  an' 
just  plumb  full  of  rage.  I  can  imagine  them  wicked  lit- 
tle eyes  of  hisn  gettin'  redder  an'  redder  every  minute. 
An'  one  swipe  of  them  paws  would  cave  in  th'  side  of 
th'  biggest  steer  on  th'  range.  It's  a  cussed  good 
thing  grizzlies  ain't  got  th'  speed  an'  habits  of  moun- 
tain lions  —  they'd  be  th'  most  dangerous  things  on 
earth  if  they  had." 

The  bear  sat  down  suddenly  and  dragged  himself  a 
few  feet,  and  then  ran  on  at  top  speed. 

Holbrook  roared  with  laughter.  "  Ho !  Ho  I  Ho ! 
This  is  goin'  to  be  as  much  fun  as  a  circus !  D — d  if 
I'd  miss  it  for  a  week's  pay!  Go  on,  Old  Timer; 
steam  up ! " 

Free  at  last  from  the  stinging  attacks  of  the  yellow- 

263 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


jackets,  the  great  bear  suddenly  stopped,  squatted  back 
on  his  haunches  and  rubbed  his  head  and  snout  with 
both  paws ;  and  then,  looking  across  the  canyon  at  the 
place  the  laughter  was  coming  from,  slouched  back 
on  four  legs  and  waddled  rapidly  upward,  his  huge 
body  twisting  ponderously  at  each  step.  Reaching  the 
top  he  paused  while  he  surveyed  his  immediate  vicin- 
ity, looked  back  down  the  trail,  glanced  across  the 
canyon  again,  and  then  slowly  disappeared  among  the 
rocks  and  bowlders. 

Holbrook  shifted  his  rifle  to  a  more  comfortable  po- 
sition across  his  knees  and  leaned  forward  expectantly, 
grinning  in  keen  anticipation,  his  cigarette  cold  and 
forgotten  between  his  lips.  It  was  just  possible  that 
there  might  be  more  in  the  coming  show  for  him  than 
amusement,  for  Mr.  Nelson,  intent,  very,  very  intent, 
upon  his  part  of  a  game  of  tag  among  the  bowlders, 
might  forget  for  a  moment  and  carelessly  show  him- 
self long  enough  to  become  a  promising  target. 

"Wonder  how  much  he'll  take,  purty  soon,  to  let 
OF  Silver-tip  leave  th'  country  along  with  us?"  he 
chuckled.  "I  wish  Tom  was  here!" 

Johnny  opened  his  eyes  at  Pepper's  snort  and 
glanced  at  the  horse,  which  trembled  in  every  limb  and 
whose  big  eyes  were  ablaze  with  terror.  She  had 
jerked  the  picket  rope  loose  from  under  the  rock  which 
had  held  it,  but  was  rigid  with  fear.  Sitting  bolt  up- 

264 


An  Unwelcome  Visitor 


right  as  he  jerked  out  a  Colt,  Johnny  glanced  in  the 
direction  of  Pepper's  stare  and  then  left  the  blanket  to 
take  care  of  itself.  Twenty  paces  distant  was  the 
Sharp's,  loaded  and  lying  on  a  rock,  and  he  hotly 
cursed  the  stupidity  and  carelessness  which  had  caused 
him  to  go  to  sleep  so  far  away  from  the  weapon.  It 
was  the  first  time  such  a  thing  had  happened  in  weeks, 
and  he  instantly  resolved  that  it  never  would  happen 
again.  Between  him  and  the  rifle  was  the  biggest, 
meanest  looking  grizzly  it  ever  had  been  his  misfor- 
tune to  face. 

The  unwelcome  visitor  had  finished  a  pan  of  beans 
and  a  pan  of  rice  and  had  its  nose  jammed  in  the  last 
can  of  sugar  that  Johnny  owned.  Observing  his  un- 
willing host's  acrobatic  leap  and  the  flying  blanket,  the 
huge  animal  pushed  the  sugar  can  from  its  swollen 
nose  with  a  cunningly  curved  paw,  and  heaved  itself 
onto  its  four  legs,  regarding  the  puncher  with  a  frankly 
curious  and  belligerent  stare.  The  little  eyes  were 
wicked  and  bloodshot  and  one  of  them  was  nearly 
closed  from  the  stings  of  the  yellow-jackets.  Alto- 
gether it  was  as  unpleasant  a  sight  as  anyone  would  care 
to  look  upon  at  such  close  range. 

Behind  Johnny  was  the  rock  wall,  rising  fifteen  feet 
above  the  bottom  of  the  little  rock  basin,  and  it  curved 
slightly  outward  at  the  top.  On  one  side  were  scat- 
tered several  great  bowlders,  and  he  kept  these  in 

265 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


mind  as  he  glanced  quickly  behind  him  at  the  wall, 
which  was  smooth  and  devoid  of  hand-holds. 

He  had  killed  a  grizzly  with  a  six-shooter,  but  no 
such  an  animal  as  the  one  facing  him;  and  a  Colt  was 
not  a  weapon  to  be  eagerly  used,  especially  at  such 
close  quarters,  where  a  sudden  rush  might  be  fatal  to 
the  user.  He  knew  the  thickness  of  the  bone  over  the 
little  brain,  and  keenly  realized  the  smallness  of  the 
eyes  as  a  target  in  the  slowly  moving  head;  if  he  could 
maneuver  the  animal  to  give  him  a  heart  shot  he  would 
have  a  fair  chance. 

"  G'wan  away  from  here !  "  he  ordered  peremptorily, 
with  an  assurance  in  his  voice  which  he  did  not  feel. 
"  Pull  your  stakes,  you  big  tramp,  or  /I'll  bust  yore 
neck!" 

Bruin  refused  to  heed  him;  instead,  the  animal 
shuffled  forward,  its  head  wagging,  and  Johnny  also 
stepped  forward,  on  his  toes,  yelled  loudly  and  waved 
his  arms.  Bruin  paused  and  looked  him  over.  Johnny 
side-stepped  toward  the  rifle,  but  the  bear  pivoted 
quickly,  swung  around  and  declared  its  intentions  with 
a  low  but  entirely  sufficient  growl. 

Johnny  figured  quickly.  He  might  beat  his  visitor 
to  the  gun,  but  he  strongly  doubted  if  he  would  lead 
by  a  margin  large  enough  to  have  time  to  swing  the 
weapon  to  his  shoulder  and  obtain  the  nicety  of  aim 
necessary  to  stop  his  pursuer  as  suddenly  as  the  occa- 

266 


An  Unwelcome  Visitor 


«ion  demanded.  The  bowlders  remained  as  his  other 
alternative,  and  as  the  bear  took  its  second  step,  which 
was  the  beginning  of  the  rush,  Johnny  made  a  very 
creditable  leap  in  the  direction  of  the  bowlders,  gained 
the  first  by  ten  feet  to  spare,  vaulted  the  second,  dashed 
around  the  third  and  streaked  up  the  slope  leading  to 
the  top  of  the  rocky  wall  behind  the  pool. 

As  he  gained  the  top  a  bullet  hummed  past  his  head, 
but  it  received  no  recognition  from  him,  for  the  bear 
also  was  hustling  up  the  slope,  thoroughly  aroused 
and  abrim  with  energy  and  ambition.  Jerking  out  his 
Colts,  he  emptied  one  of  them  into  the  rushing  ani- 
mal as  he  leaped  aside  to  get  behind  another  bowl- 
der. The  bear  slowed  for  an  instant  as  the  six  heavy 
slugs  ripped  into  it,  and  then,  loosing  a  roar  that 
awoke  the  echoes,  it  gathered  speed  and  slid  around 
the  rock,  clawing  desperately  to  make  a  short  turn. 
Johnny  emptied  his  second  gun  into  the  enraged  an- 
imal as  he  dodged  around  another  rock,  and  then, 
dropping  both  Colts  into  their  holsters,  he  sprinted 
for  the  top  of  the  wall  as  Holbrookes  second  bullet 
loosened  a  heel  and  almost  threw  him. 

Reaching  the  edge  he  launched  himself  from  it,  re- 
covered his  balance  like  an  acrobat  and  dashed  for  his 
rifle  as  the  grizzly,  reaching  the  edge,  checked  him- 
self barely  in  time  and  hunted  hurriedly  for  a  way  to 
get  down  the  wall.  Giving  it  up  in  an  instant,  the 

267 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


-animal  drew  up  its  forelegs  with  a  pivoting  swing, 
and  started  at  full  speed  along  the  edge,  to  go  down 
the  way  it  had  come  up.  This  exposed  its  left  side, 
and  the  Sharp's,  already  at  Johnny's  shoulder,  stead- 
ied upon  the  vital  spot  as  he  timed  the  swing  of  the 
great  foreleg.  There  was  a  sharp  roar,  and  an  ounce 
and  a  quarter  of  lead  smashed  through  skin  and  flesh, 
squarely  into  the  animal's  heart.  The  great  beast  col- 
lapsed, slid  around  and  raised  its  head;  but  again  the 
.heavy  rifle  spoke  and  the  massive  head  dropped  limply, 
for  the  stopping  power  of  a  Sharp's  Special  is  tre- 
mendous. 

Johnny  jerked  out  the  smoking  shell,  slid  another 
great  cartridge  into  place,  and  then  sat  down  on  the 
rock,  wiping  his  face  with  his  sleeve. 

"Hey!"  called  a  distant  voice.  "Want  any  help 
with  th'  varmints?'* 

Johnny  grabbed  his  rifle  and  slipped  to  the  edge  of 
the  butte.  Holbrook  called  again,  carelessly  expos- 
ing his  shoulder;  and  then  cursed  the  bullet  which 
^grooved  it. 

"  Can  I  do  anything  more  for  you?"  jeered  Johnny, 


268 


CHAPTER  XX 

A  PAST  MASTER  DRAWS  CARDS 

BACK  on  the  CL  the  foreman  was  worried  about 
his  new,  two-gun  man,  and  had  almost  made  up 
his  mind  to  order  the  outfit  into  the  saddle  and  to  lead 
it  up  into  the  Twin  Buttes  country  to  aid  Johnny. 
While  he  was  turning  the  matter  over  in  his  mind  he 
entered  the  bunk-house  and  saw  Luke  Tedrue,  the  old- 
est man  on  the  ranch,  dressed  in  a  clean  shirt,  new 
trousers,  and  a  pair  of  new  boots.  Luke  looked  sur- 
prisingly clean  and  he  was  busily  engaged  in  cleaning 
and  oiling  the  parts  of  an  old  .44  caliber  Remington 
six-shooter,  one  of  those  early  models  which  had  been 
transformed  from  its  original  cap-and-ball  class  into 
a  weapon  shooting  center-fire  cartridges.  It  had  been 
the  butt  of  many  joking  remarks  and  the  old  man  cher- 
ished it,  and  had  defended  it  in  many  a  hot,  verbal 
skirmish.  Considering  its  age  and  use  it  was  in  a  re- 
markably fine  state  of  preservation. 

Luke  had  played  many  parts  in  his  day,  for  he  had 
been  a  hunter,  frontiersman,  scout,  pony-express  rider, 
miner,  and  cavalryman,  and  as  an  Indian  fighter  he 
had  admitted  but  few  masters.  Tough,  wiry,  shrewd, 
enduring,  of  flawless  courage  and  bulldog  tenacity  of 

269 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


purpose,  he  had  behind  him  long  years  of  experience; 
and  his  appearance  of  age  was  as  deceptive  as  the  pose 
of  a  basking  rattler. 

The  lessons  of  such  a  long,  precarious,  and  daring 
life  as  he  had  led  were  not  easily  ignored,  and  now 
as  a  cow-puncher,  riding  out  his  declining  days  on  the 
range,  there  were  certain  habits  which  clung  to  him 
with  the  strength  of  instinct.  One  of  these  was  his 
faith  in  a  weapon  almost  universally  condemned  on 
the  range.  It  mattered  nothing  to  him  that  times  and 
conditions  had  changed;  he  had  proved  its  worth  in 
years  of  fighting,  and  now  he  refused  to  lay  it  aside. 
There  had  been  a  day  when  Bowie's  terrible  weapon 
had  entered  largely  into  the  life  of  the  long  frontier. 

Logan,  worried  and  preoccupied  as  he  was,  could 
not  keep  from  smiling  at  the  old  man's  patient  labor. 

"Luke,  you  waste  more  time  an*  elbow  grease  on 
that  worn-out  old  relic  than  most  people  do  with  real 
guns.  Th'  whole  outfit,  put  together,  don't  pamper 
their  six-guns  th'  way  you  do  that  contraption.  Why 
don't  you  throw  it  away  an'  get  a  good  gun?  " 

Luke  snorted,  and  screwed  the  walnut  butt-plates  into 
place.  Then  he  slipped  the  cylinder  into  position,  slid 
the  pin  through  it,  swung  up  the  old  ramrod  lever  and 
snapped  it  into  its  catch  under  the  barrel.  Spinning 
the  cylinder,  he  weighed  the  heavy  weapon  affection- 
ately, and  looked  up. 

270 


A  Past  Master  Draws  Cards 


Luke  grunted.  "Huh!  Mebby  that's  why  old 
Betsy  is  a  better  gun  today  than  any  in  this  outfit. 
Why  should  I  get  a  new  one?  This  old  Rem.  has 
been  a  cussed  good  friend  of  mine.  She's  never  balked 
nor  laid  down,  an'  she  puts  'em  where  she's  pointed. 
An  old  friend  like  her  ain't  goin'  to  rust  if  I  can  help 


it." 


"Rust?"  inquired  Logan,  chuckling.  "Why,  there 
ain't  been  enough  moisture  in  th'  air  lately  to  rust 
anything,  let  alone  any  gun  that's  as  full  of  grease  an' 
oil  as  that  contraption.  Wait  till  th'  rainy  season  hits 
us  before  you  worry  about  rust.  An'  what  arc  you  all 
dressed  up  for?  When  I  saw  you  this  mornin1  you 
was  th'  dirtiest  man  on  th'  ranch;  an'  now  you  fair 
shines!  Ain't  aimin'  to  go  an'  hitch  up  with  no  fe- 
male, are  you?" 

Luke  shoved  home  the  last  greasy  cartridge,  snapped 
shut  the  hinged  flange,  laid  the  gun  aside,  and  pointed 
to  a  pile  of  wet  clothing  on  the  floor  near  his  bunk. 

"  There  ain't  no  female  livin'  can  put  a  rope  on  me 
no  more,"  he  grinned.  "See  them  clothes?  I  done 
fell  in  th'  crick.  Some  slab-sided  nuisance  shifted  th' 
planks  an'  was  too  lazy  to  put  'em  back  right  They 
tip  sideways.  I  got  half  way  acrost  an'  up  she  turns. 
Lost  my  balance  an'  lit  belly-whopper.  But  I  put  'em 
back  just  like  I  found  'em." 

"An'  you'll  get  an  innercent  man." 

271 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


"There  ain't  none  in  this  outfit,"  grunted  Luke. 
He  searched  the  foreman's  face  with  shrewd  eyes. 
"John,  worryin'  never  did  help  a  man.  Get  shet  of 
it,  or  it'll  get  shet  of  you." 

"Easy  said,  OF  Timer;  but  it  ain't  so  easy  done," 
replied  Logan. 

Luke  kicked  his  wet  holster  toward  the  clothes  and 
took  down  one  belonging  to  someone  else,  and  calmly 
appropriated  it,  belt  and  all. 

"Two  most  generally  splits  a  load  about  in  half," 
he  observed,  shoving  the  gun  into  the  sheath.  "An* 
it  allus  helps  a  lot  to  talk  things  over  with  somebody." 

"Well,  I  ain't  heard  a  word  from  Nelson  since  he 
left  that  note  tellin'  me  where  he  was  goin'  an1  for  me 
not  to  bother  about  our  five-day  arrangement;  an'  he 
shore  started  off  to  wrastle  with  trouble." 

"  Huh !  "  snorted  Luke  grimly.  "  Dunno  as  I'd  do 
much  worryin'  about  him.  Real  active,  capable  hom- 
bre,  he  is.  Chain  lightnin',  an*  an  eye  like  a  hawk. 
A  few  years  more  an'  he'll  steady  down  an'  get  sensi- 
ble. Lord,  what  a  fool  /  was  at  his  age !  Beats  all 
how  young  men  ever  live  long  enough  to  become  old 


ones." 


"  But  he's  been  gone  a  month,"  replied  Logan. 
"It's  been  two  weeks  since  I  heard  from  him,  an' 
longer.  He's  playin'  a  lone  hand  ag'in  them  fellers, 
an'  it  ain't  no  one-man  job,  not  by  a  d — d  sight!  He 

272 


A  Past  Master  Draws  Cards 


was  to  find  out  certain  things  an1  then  come  back  here 
an'  report.  Why  ain't  he  got  back?  " 

"  Busy,  mebby,"  grunted  Luke.  "  I  have  an  idea  th' 
job  would  keep  one  man  purty  tolerable  busy,  with 
one  thing  an'  another  turning  up.  He  don't  want  to 
get  seen  an'  tip  off  his  hand;  an'  keepin'  under  cover 
takes  time." 

"  I  should  'a'  taken  th'  outfit  up  there  an'  combed  th' 
hills,  regardless  what  anybody  said  about  squarin'  up 
old  scores." 

"What  you  should  'a'  done,  an'  what  you  did  do 
don't  track,"  replied  Luke.  "An'  I  ain't  shore  that 
you  oughta  'a'  busted  loose  like  that  a-tall.  It's  a  good 
thing  most  generally  to  know  where  yo're  goin'  to 
light  before  you  jump.  What  you  should  'a'  done 
was  to  'a'  sent  me  up  there,  either  alone  or  with  him. 
'Tain't  too  late  to  deal  me  a  hand.  Where'd  he  say 
he  was  goin'?" 

"  West  of  Twin  Buttes.  But  if  you  go  it'll  be  a  one- 
man  job  again,  an'  I  don't  like  it." 

"  Uh-huh ! "  chuckled  Luke.  "  That's  just  what  it  is ; 
an'  I  do  like  it.  I  drove  stage,  carried  dispatches 
through  Injun  country,  an'  was  th'  boss  scout  for  th' 
two  best  army  officers  that  ever  fit  Injuns.  Reckon 
mebby  if  th'  Injuns  couldn't  lift  my  scalp,  no  gang 
of  thievin'  cow-punchers  can  skin  it  off.  An'  I'm 
cussed  tired  of  punchin'  cows.  I  ain't  no  puncher  by 

273 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


nature,  hopes,  or  inclinations.  I'm  a  scout,  /  am;  an' 
I'm  goin'  up  there  somewhere  west  of  th'  Twins  an* 
find  Nelson,  if  he's  still  alive,  get  them  facts  an*  bring 
'em  back." 

"  I  don't  like  th'  idea,"  muttered  Logan. 

"Huh I  I  ain't  got  them  fool  notions  that  Nelson 
has.  I  ain't  no  Christian  when  I'm  on  a  war  trail.  He 
worries  about  givin'  th'  other  feller  an  even  break; 
but  I  worries  if  I  lets  him  have  it.  Greasers,  thieves, 
an'  Injuns  —  they're  all  alike;  an'  they  don't  get  no 
even  break  from  me  if  I  can  help  it.  I  puts  th'  wor- 
ryin'  right  up  to  them.  I'll  bet  he's  alive,  an'  workin' 
all  th'  time;  but  he  ain't  got  no  chance  to  get  quick 
results;  an'  it's  his  own  handicappin',  too.  When  a 
man's  scoutin'  around  a  whole  passel  of  rustlers,  a 
gun  has  got  its  limits.  Gimme  a  pair  of  moccasins  an' 
ol'  Colonel  Bowie." 

"  I  likes  you  purty  much ;  but  d — d  if  I  thinks  much 
of  any  man  that  uses  a  knife ! " 

Luke  laughed  grimly  and  got  the  knife  from  his 
bunk.  "There  he  is.  He  don't  make  a  man  no  deader 
than  a  bullet;  an'  he  don't  make  no  noise.  There 
ain't  nothin'  handier  in  a  mix-up  —  an'  a  good  man 
can  drive  it  straight  as  any  bullet,  too.  I'm  gettin'  het 
up  considerable  about  all  this  palaver  about  this  knife 
an'  me;  an'  I'm  goin'  to  lick  th'  next  man  that  rides 
me  about  it.  It's  a'  honest  weapon.  It  was  ground 

274 


A  Past  Master  Draws  Cards 


out  of  a  two-inch  hoof  file,  an*  when  it  cuts  through 
th'  air  it  takes  considerable  to  stop  it.  When  I  was 
younger  I  could  send  it  so  far  into  a  two-inch  plank 
that  you  could  feel  th'  pint  of  it  on  th'  other  side. 
Just  feel  th'  heft  an'  balance  of  that  blade ! " 

"Feel  it  yoreself!"  snapped  Logan.  "That  ain't 
fair  fightin' ;  an'  if  you  don't  like  that,  you  can  start  in 
here  an'  now  an'  lick  me." 

"I  never  said  I  was  a  fair  fighter,"  grinned  Luke, 
slipping  the  weapon  into  a  scabbard  sewed  to  the  in- 
side of  his  boot;  "but  old  as  I  am,  I  can  put  yore 
shoulders  in  th'  dust.  We'll  argue  instead.  Them  fel- 
lers ain't  fair  fighters;  they  dassn't  be  even  if  they 
wanted  to  be ;  an'  when  I'm  tanglin'  up  with  'em  I  ain't 
polite  a-tall.  I  just  fights,  knife,  gun,  teeth,  hands, 
feet,  an'  head,  any  way  as  comes  handy.  That's  why 
I'm  still  alive,  too.  Now  I'm  goin'  up  somewhere  west 
of  th'  Buttes  an'  look  around  from  there ;  an'  Colonel 
Bowie  goes  with  me,  right  where  he  is.  Tell  th'  cook 
to  give  me  what  grub  I  wants.  An'  I  reckon  I  better 
take  Nelson  some  ca'tridges  an'  tobacco." 

"Tell  him  yoreself;  an'  if  he  won't  do  it,  I'll  tell 
you  who  moved  th'  planks,"  grinned  Logan.  "But  I 
hate  to  see  you  go  alone." 

"An'  I'd  hate  to  have  anybody  along,"  grunted 
Luke.  "I'll  be  busy  enough  takin'  care  of  myself 
without  botherin'  with  a  fool  puncher." 

275 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


The  old  scout  sauntered  into  the  kitchen.  "  Mat, 
you  sage  hen;  th'  next  time  you  shifts  them  planks, 
put  a  stone  under  th'  edges  that  don't  touch  th'  ground. 
You  near  drownded  me  in  three  inches  of  water  an' 
a  foot  of  mud.  Now  you  gimme  a  chunk  of  bacon, 
couple  pounds  of  flour,  three  pounds  of  beans,  couple 
of  pounds  of  that  rice,  'though  I  ain't  real  fascinated 
by  it,  couple  handfuls  of  coffee,  handful  of  salt,  an' 
a  pound  of  tobacco.  I  may  be  gone  a  couple  of  months 
an'  get  real  hungry.  Nope;  no  canned  grub.  I 
want  this  fryin'  pan,  that  tin  cup,  an*  a  fork." 

He  sniffed  eagerly  and  strode  to  a  covered  pan. 
"Beans,  ready  cooked!  Mat,  you  was  hidin'  them! 
Dump  some  of  'em  into  a  cloth — now  I  won't  have 
to  cook  my  first  couple  of  meals.  Stick  all  th'  stuff  in 
a  sack,  them  on  top,"  and  he  hurried  out. 

Fifteen  minutes  later  Logan  entered  Mat's  domain. 
"Where's  Luke?  What,  already?  Must  'a'  been 
scared  I'd  change  my  mind.  Why,  he  left  his  pipe 
an'  smokin'  behind,"  pointing  at  the  table. 

Mat  grinned.  "He  says  a  smoker  can't  smell,  an* 
gets  smelled.  An'  he  says  for  somebody  to  go  up  to 
Little  Canyon  for  his  bronc.  He's  leavin'  it  there  to- 
night, hobbled.  An*  take  that  pipe  out  of  here;  I 
don't  want  them  beans  ruined." 

Luke  was  crossing  the  CL  range  at  a  gallop,  anx- 
ious to  cross  the  river  and  get  past  the  Hope-Hastings 

276 


A  Past  Master  Draws  Cards 


trail  before  dark.  Reaching  the  Deepwater  he  forced 
his  indignant  horse  into  it  and  emerged,  chilled,  on 
the  farther  bank.  Hobbling  the  animal,  he  put  his 
boots  on  the  saddle,  slipped  on  a  pair  of  moccasins, 
fastened  the  pack  on  his  back  and  swung  into  the  can- 
yon, his  mind  busily  forming  a  mental  map  of  the 
country. 

Placing  Hope  at  one  end  and  Hastings  at  the  other, 
he  connected  them  by  the  trail,  putting  in  the  Deep- 
water,  the  Barrier,  and  Twin  Buttes. 

"They  comes  to  Hastings  'stead  of  Hope,  which 
says  Hastings  is  nearest.  He  said  west  of  Twin 
Buttes.  Then  I'll  start  at  th'  Buttes  an'  go  west  till  I 
find  his  trail ;  an1  if  I  don't  find  it,  I'll  circle  'round  till 
I  finds  something!  I'd  know  that  black  cayuse's 
tracks  in  a  hundred. 

"  Logan  sent  Nelson  up  here  because  nobody  knowed 
him  an'  that  he  was  workin'  for  us.  Huh!  What 
good  will  it  do  'em  to  know  a  man  if  they  never  see 
him?  An'  they  won't  see  me,  'less  I  wants  'em  to. 
That  water  feels  colder  than  it  ought  to  —  reckon  I'm 
gettin'  old.  I  shore  ain't  as  young  as  I  uster  be. 
Got  to  move  lively  to  get  thawed  out  an'  dry  these 
clothes." 

Crossing  the  main  trail  after  due  observation,  he 
saw  an  old  and  well-worn  trail  leading  westward  into 
a  deep  valley. 

277 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


"Huh!  Hit  it  first  shot.  You  just  can't  beat 
luck!" 

Choosing  the  cover  along  one  side  of  the  smaller 
trail,  he  melted  into  it  and  plunged  westward,  swing- 
ing along  with  easy,  lazy  strides  that  covered  ground 
amazingly  and  with  a  minimum  of  effort.  His  long 
legs  swung  free  from  his  hips,  the  hips  rolling  into  the 
movement;  his  knees  were  rather  stiff  and  as  his  feet 
neared  the  ground  at  the  end  of  each  stride  he  pushed 
them  ahead  a  little  more  before  they  touched.  This 
was  where  the  swaying  hips  gave  him  an  added  thrust 
of  inches.  And  like  all  natural,  sensible  walkers,  his 
toes  turned  in. 

Night  was  coming  on  when  he  neared  Twin  Buttes 
and  a  rifle  shot  in  their  direction  drew  a  chuckle  from 
him.  Throwing  off  the  pack  he  ate  his  fill  of  Mat's 
cooked  beans,  shoved  the  wrapped-up  remainder  into 
his  shirt,  hid  the  pack  and  slipped  into  the  deeper 
shadows,  his  rifle  on  his  back,  the  old  Remington  in 
one  hand  and  Colonel  Bowie  lying  along  the  other,  its 
handle  up  his  sleeve  and  the  keen  point  extending  be- 
yond his  fingers. 

A  coyote  might  have  heard  him  moving,  but  th« 
task  was  beyond  human  ears;  and  after  a  few  min- 
utes he  stopped  suddenly  and  sniffed.  The  faint  odor 
of  a  fire  told  him  that  he  was  getting  close  to  a  camp, 
and  a  moment  later  a  distant  flare  lit  up  the  tree- 

278 


A  Past  Master  Draws  Cards 


tops  in  the  canyon  proper.  Looking  down  he  noticed 
the  buckle  of  his  belt,  thought  that  it  was  too  bright, 
and  wrapped  a  bandanna  handkerchief  around  it.  Slip- 
ping  the  six-shooter  into  its  holster  he  moved  forward 
again,  bent  over,  going  swiftly  and  silently, 
his  feet  avoiding  twigs,  branches,  and  pebbles  as 
though  he  had  eyes  in  his  toes.  Rounding  the  south- 
ern Twin  he  melted  into  the  darkness  at  the  side  of  a 
bowlder  and  peered  cautiously  over  the  rock. 

A  great,  crackling  fire  sent  its  flames  towering  high 
in  the  air  from  a  little  clearing  at  the  lower  end  of  a 
path  which  went  up  the  side  of  the  butte  and  became 
lost  in  the  darkness.  Examining  the  scene  with  shrewd, 
keen,  and  appraising  eyes,  he  waited  patiently.  A 
burst  of  fire  darted  from  the  top  of  the  northern  Twin 
and  a  strange  voice  jeered  softly  in  the  distance.  From 
the  top  of  the  southern  butte  came  an  answering  jeer 
in  a  voice  which  he  instantly  recognized. 

"  Treed,  by  G-d ! "  he  chuckled  gleefully.  "  Reckon 
he'll  be  tickled  to  see  me.  Wonder  how  long  he's  been 
up  there?" 

A  piece  of  wood  curved  into  the  circle  of  illumina- 
tion and  landed  on  the  blazing  fire,  sending  a  stream 
of  sparks  soaring  up  the  mesa  wall. 

"There's  Number  Two,"  soliloquized  Luke  cheer- 
fully, "  feedin'  th'  fire  an'  watchin'  th1  trail.  Cuss  him 
for  a  fool  1  Some  of  them  sparks  will  get  loose,  an1 

279 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


hell  will  be  a  nice,  quiet  place  compared  to  this  canyon. 
Well,  now  I  got  to  rustle  around  an'  locate  'em  all; 
an*  this  ain't  no  place  or  time  for  no  shootin',  nei- 
ther." 

Half  an  hour  later  Fleming  tossed  more  wood  on 
the  fire  and  settled  back  to  fight  mosquitoes.  A  glit- 
tering streak  shot  through  the  air  and  he  crumpled 
without  a  sound.  A  shadow  moved  and  a  silent  form 
wriggled  through  the  brush  and  among  the  bowlders 
and  retrieved  the  knife,  took  the  dead  man's  weapons 
and  wriggled  back  again.  It  slipped  noiselessly  across 
the  canyon,  searched  along  the  base  of  the  northern 
Twin,  found  the  wide,  up-slanting  trail  and  flitted  along 
it,  pausing  frequently  to  look,  sniff,  and  listen.  Reach- 
ing  the  top  of  the  butte,  it  wriggled  from  bowlder  to 
bowlder,  ridge  to  ridge,  systematically  covering  every 
foot  of  the  plateau,  and  steadily  working  nearer  the 
southern  rim. 

Holbrook  yawned,  stretched,  and  yawned  again. 
He  picked  up  his  rifle  and  scowled  into  the  canyon, 
where  the  fire  engaged  his  critical  attention. 

"That  lazy  cuss  is  lettin*  it  burn  too  low,"  he 
growled.  "Wonder  if  he's  asleep!"  He  laughed 
and  shook  his  head.  "Nope;  don't  believe  even  Art 
could  sleep  down  there,  with  them  mosquitoes  pes- 
terin'  him.  This  suits  me,  right  herel" 

He  looked  around  uneasily.  "I  do  so  much  layirf 

280 


A  Past  Master  Draws  Cards 


around  out  here  in  daytime  that  I  can't  sleep  nights," 
he  grumbled,  not  willing  to  admit  that  he  felt  un- 
easy. "  Funny  how  a  man's  nerres  will  get  hummln* 
when  he's  on  a  job  like  this.  It  shore  is  monotonous.'* 
Looking  around  agdn,  he  shifted  so  that  he  could  see 
part  of  the  mesa  top  behind  him,  and  tried  to  shake 
off  the  premonition  of  evil  which  persisted  in  haunt- 
ing him. 

"How  many  cows  you  thieves  sold  so  far?"  called 
a  voice  from  the  other  buttc. 

"Nowhere  near  as  many  as  we're  goin'  to  get,"  re- 
torted Holbrook,  laughing.  "Chsngin'  yore  mind?'* 
he  jeered. 

"Not  me;  I  wouldn't  work  with  no  teethin*  infants. 
I'd  rather  work  alone.  I  associates  with  men,  I  do.'* 

"You'll  'sociate  with  dead  men  purty  soon,"  sneered 
Holbrook.  "We  got  you  just  where  we — "  the 
words  choked  into  a  gurgle  and  a  lean,  vague  figure 
moved  slowly  forward  from  behind  a  ridge, 

"What's  th'  matter?"  ironically  demanded  the  man 
on  the  southern  Twin.  "Swaller  yore  cigarette? 
That's  a  good  thing.  You  want  to  practice  swallerin* 
hot  things  because  tomorrow  yo're  goin'  to  swaller 
a  snub-nosed  Special."  Pausing,  Johnny  waited  ex- 
pectantly for  an  answer,  but  receiving  none,  he  grunted 
cheerfully.  "All  r'ght;  go  to  blazes!" 

The  fire  burned  lower  and  lower  and  Johnny  be» 

281 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


came  suspicious.  If  the  rustler  on  the  other  butte 
hoped  to  keep  him  engaged  in  snappy  conversation 
when  the  fire  grew  low,  there  was  no  telling  what  the 
man  in  the  canyon  might  do ;  so  he  crept  to  the  top  of 
the  trail  and  peered  down  it,  scanning  the  wall  in- 
tently, half  expecting  to  glimpse  some  swift,  shadowy 
movement;  but  his  alertness  was  not  rewarded. 

"Wonder  how  long  Hoppy  or  Red  would  loaf  on 
a  game  like  this,"  he  grinned,  "  if  they  was  down  there ! 
But  there  ain't  many  of  their  breed  runnin*  around.11 

An  hour  passed  and  the  fire  was  a  mass  of  glowing 
embers,  now  and  then  relieved  by  a  spasmodic  burst 
of  flame,  which  flickered  up  and  died.  Across  the  lit- 
tle clearing  a  shadowy  form  moved  slowly  backward, 
chuckling  softly.  If  there  were  any  more  rustlers 
around,  one  of  them  certainly  would  have  investigated 
why  the  fire  was  allowed  to  die;  and  Luke  felt  quite 
confident  that  he  had  accounted  for  all  of  them  who 
were  in  the  vicinity.  Still,  he  argued,  nothing  was  a 
certainty  which  depended  upon  circumstantial  evidence, 
and  he  did  not  relax  his  caution  as  he  moved  away. 

Johnny,  straining  his  eyes  in  trying  to  discover  signs 
of  enemies  on  the  trail,  suddenly  stiffened,  listening 
eagerly  with  every  nerve  taut.  Again  came  the  voice, 
barely  audible.  Moving  to  the  outer  edge  of  the 
butte  he  peered  over  cautiously,  well  knowing  that  he 
could  see  nothing. 

282 


A  Past  Master  Draws  Cards 


4  Tell  Red  his  pants  wear  well,1"  floated  up  to 
him  out  of  the  canyon. 

Johnny  moved  a  little  and  leaned  farther  over  after 
a  glance  at  the  black  sky  assured  him  that  he  would 
not  be  silhouetted  for  a  marksman  below. 

u  '  Does  William,  Junior,  chew  tobacco?'  "  persisted 
the  whisper. 

Johnny  wriggled  back  and  sat  bolt  upright,  incredu- 
lous, doubting  his  senses.  "What  th'  devil!"  he  mut- 
tered. "Am  I  loco?" 

"'We  was  scared  he'd  die,'"  continued  the  canyon. 

Taking  another  good  look  down  the  threatening 
trail,  Johnny  wriggled  to  the  edge  and  again  looked 
down. 

"  '  Pete  paid  Red  th'  eight  dollars,'  "  said  the  chasm, 
a  little  louder  and  with  a  note  of  irritation. 

"Who  th'  devil  are  you?"  demanded  Johnny 
loudly. 

"  Not  so  loud.  Luke  Tedrue,"  whispered  the  dark- 
ness. " How  many  of  them  skunks  are  around  here?" 

"Yo're  a  liar!"  retorted  Johnny  angrily.  "An*  a 
fool ! " 

"Go  to  th'  devil ! "  snapped  the  canyon. 

"  Come  around  in  daylight  an'  I'll  send  you  to 
him!"  growled  Johnny.  "Think  I'm  a  fool?" 

There  was  no  answer,  and,  fearful  of  a  trick,  Johnny 
wriggled  back  to  his  snug  cover  at  the  head  of  the 

283 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


trail,  finding  that  the  fire  had  become  only  a  dull,  red 
mass  of  embers  which  gave  out  almost  no  light. 

"You  shore  got  me  guessin',"  he  grumbled;  "but 
I  reckon  mebby  I'm  guessin'  purty  good,  at  that  You 
just  try  it,  cuss  you  1 " 

Luke  explored  the  canyon  again  to  make  assurance 
doubly  sure,  and  again  approached  the  great  wall. 

"'Does  William,  Junior,  chew  tobacco? '"  he  de- 
manded. 

Johnny  squirmed,  but  remained  where  he  was. 
"  You  can't  fool  me ! "  he  shouted  peevishly. 

"Reckon  not;  yo're  as  wise  as  a  jackass,  a  dead 
one,"  said  Luke.  "You  stubborn  fool,  listen  to  this: 
*  Don't  look  for  no  word  from  me.  I'm  goin'  west,  to 
try  it  from  back  of  Twin  Buttes.  They've  drove  me 
out."  The  voice  was  plainer  now.  "How  many  of 
'em  are  out  here?" 

Johnny  grinned  suddenly,  for  in  the  increase  in  the 
power  of  the  voice  he  recognized  a  friend. 

"  Hello,  Luke,  you  old  skunk  I  "  he  called,  laughing. 
"Glad  to  see  you.  There's  four  been  hangin'  around 
but  there's  only  two  now,  or  three  at  th'  most.  Look 
out  for  'em.  Coin'  to  try  to  come  up?" 

"No,  not  a-tall,"  replied  Luke.  "There's  enough 
of  our  outfit  up  there  now.  I  only  found  two  of  th' 
thieves,  but  th'  third  may  be  hid  som'ers  well  back) 
'though  I've  shore  hunted  a-plenty." 


A  Past  Master  Draws  Cards 


" Found  two?" 

"  Yep;  one  down  here,  an'  t'other  up  there.  Colonel 
Bowie  pushed  'em  over  th'  Divide.  Comin'  down?" 

"When  that  fire's  out." 

"How'd  they  come  to  drive  you  up  there?" 

"I  come  up  myself.  Couldn't  watch  while  I  slept; 
an'  I  had  to  sleep.  Now  that  there's  two  of  us  it's  all 
right." 

"  You  called  th'  turn.  Get  yore  traps  together  an' 
I'll  fix  th'  fire.  Where's  yore  cayuse?" 

"Up  here.  Don't  bother  with  th'  fire.  Be  right 
down." 

Half  an  hour  later  Johnny  reached  the  bottom  of 
the  trail  and  paused. 

"  c  Red's  pants,' "  said  a  humorous  voice. 

"Come  on,  Luke.  We'll  hold  up  somewhere  an* 
get  th'  relief  shift  when  it  comes  out  from  th'  ranch." 

"Shore.    Where's  th' ranch?" 

"'Bout  three  miles  west;  an'  it's  a  cussed  fine  one, 
too." 

"All  right;  get  movin'.  I  want  to  dry  out  these 
pants.  They  must  be  all  cotton  from  th'  way  they 
feel.  We'll  go  back  a  ways  an'  start  a  fire." 

"No,  we  won't;  too  dangerous,"  growled  Johnny 
decidedly.  "We  got  this  game  won  right  now  if  we 
don't  let  'em  know  there's  two  of  us." 

Luke  grinned  in  the  dark.     "Suits  me.     You  wait 

285 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


here  a  minute,"  he  said,  disappearing.  When  he  re- 
turned he  grunted  with  keen  satisfaction,  for  Flem- 
ing's trousers  felt  snug  and  warm.  "How  many  are 
left?"  he  asked,  leading  the  way  toward  his  hidden 
pack. 

uQuigley,  Purdy,  Gates,  an'  th'  cook." 

"Them  names  don't  surprise  me,"  grunted  Luke. 

"  How'd  you  get  so  wet?  " 

"  Swimmin',"  growled  Luke. 

"Yore  shirt  feels  dry." 

"It  is,  around  th'  shoulders;  but  th'  tail  feels  like 
thj  devil.  But  it's  wool,  all  through." 

"Was  you  trailin'  Ackerman  an'  Long  Pete?" 

"  Nope ;  didn't  trail  nobody  a-tall.  How  many  cows 
they  got?" 

"  Plenty,  d— n  'em ! "  growled  Johnny. 

"What  you  been  doin'  up  here  all  this  time;  an* 
how  many  have  you  got?  " 

"Three;  I've  been  busy." 

"  Why,  you  had  time  to  get  'em  all." 

"Didn't  dare  do  any  shootin'  till  I  had  to,"  re- 
plied Johnny.  "  Didn't  want  'em  to  know  I  was  up 
here.  A  gun  makes  a  lot  of  noise." 

Luke  chuckled  grimly.  "Shore!  That's  what  I 
allus  said;  an'  that's  why  I  use  Colonel  Bowie.  He 
don't  even  whisper." 

Johnny  snorted  with  disgust.  "  Huh !  I  ain't  knifin* 

286 


A  Past  Master  Draws  Cards 


or  shootin'  from  ambush.  There's  some  things  I  won't 
do!" 

"Uppish,  huh?"  chuckled  Luke.  "Well,  young 
man;  mebby  ambushin'  ain't  yore  style,  but  I  feels  free 
to  remark  that  it's  mine  in  any  game  like  this.  Them 
pants  feel  good.  That  river's  gettin'  colder  every 
year." 

"River!"  ejaculated  Johnny,  pausing  in  his  sur* 
prise.  "What  river?" 

"  Deepwater,  of  course.  How  many  rivers  do  you 
reckon  we  got  out  here?" 

"Th'  devil!"  muttered  Johnny.  "Say!  When 
did  you  leave  th'  ranch?" 

"  'Bout  three  o'clock.  I'd  'a'  been  here  sooner,  only 
I  hoofed  it  from  th'  river.  Cayuses  can't  go  where  a 
man  can ;  they  make  a  lot  of  noise,  an'  a  man  sticks  up 
too  cussed  prominent  in  a  saddle.  They  ain't  worth  a 
cuss  in  this  kind  of  country  when  trouble's  afoot." 

"Well,  I'll  be  hanged!"  grunted  Johnny. 

"  Pull  up ;  here  we  are,"  said  Luke,  stopping  and 
bending  over  some  rocks,  which  he  rolled  aside. 
"  Rocks  are  reg'lar  telltales.  They  has  a  dark  side  an' 
a  light  side;  an'  th'  deeper  they're  set  in  th'  ground,  th' 
bigger  th'  dark  side  is.  When  you  want  to  cache  with 
'em,  you  picks  them  that  sets  on  th'  ground;  an'  you 
don't  turn  'em  wrong  side  up,  neither.  Then  a  little 
sand  used  right  will  fix  things  so  that  only  me  or  an 

287 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


Injun  can  tell  that  anything's  been  moved.  Here's 
yore  ca'tridges  an'  tobacco.  Tote  'em  yoreself." 

"  Much  obliged.  But  how  did  you  find  me  so  cussed 
quick?"  demanded  Johnny,  breaking  open  the  boxes 
and  distributing  their  contents  about  his  person. 

"Smelled  you,"  chuckled  Luke,  fixing  the  pack  on 
his  back. 

"Yo're  an  old  liar!"  retorted  Johnny.  "Tell  me 
about  it." 

"Can't;  there  ain't  nothin'  to  tell,"  replied  Luke, 
winking  at  the  sky.  "It's  just  experience,  instinct, 
brains,  knowin'  how,  an'  a  couple  more  things.  Us  old- 
timers  done  better'n  that,  forty  year  ago.  I'm  glad 
to  get  my  hand  in  ag'in;  punchin'  cows  shore  does 
spoil  a  man.  Now,  you  know  this  layout;  where  we 
goin'  now?  An'  what  you  goin'  to  do  with  that  four- 
laigged  nuisance?" 

"  Put  her  in  a  draw  east  of  here.  She'll  stay  where 
I  leave  her." 

"Then  she  ain't  no  fe-male.  It  just  can't  be  did. 
I  know  'em! " 

"  You  an'  our  Pete  oughta  get  acquainted  with  each 
other,"  chuckled  Johnny.  "You  fellers  has  th'  same 
ideas  'bout  some  things." 

"Foreman,  or  owner?" 

"Just  a  plain  puncher." 

"He  oughta  be  th'  foreman;  he's  got  sense.  I 

288 


A  Past  Master  Draws  Cards 


buried  one,  an*  left  two  more.  You  can't  fool  me 
about  th'  sex." 

"Yo're  a  reprobate.  Come  on,  Pepper/'  said 
Johnny,  whistling  to  the  horse,  who  heeled  like  a  dog. 
"It'll  be  light  purty  soon,  an'  we  want  to  hide  this 
cayuse." 

"It's  yore  say-so;  I'll  string  along,  ready  to  chip." 


289 


CHAPTER  XXI 

SCOUTING  AS  A  FINE  ART 

OUIGLEY,  favoring  his  injured  arm,  led  the  way 
toward  Twin  Buttes  to  relieve  the  men  on 
guard,  Purdy  close  behind  him;  and  he  did  not  stick 
to  the  trail,  but  cut  straight  for  his  objective  along  a 
way  well  known  to  both.  He  was  not  in  good  shape 
for  hard  work  or  hard  fighting,  but  he  felt  that  his 
place  was  on  the  scene  of  action,  as  befitted  a  chief; 
and  he  had  stubbornly  battered  down  all  the  reasons 
advanced  by  his  companions  at  the  ranch  by  which 
they  sought  to  dissuade  him.  It  had  to  be  either  him 
or  the  cook,  for  he  was  not  as  seriously  wounded  as 
Gates. 

The  chief  was  the  best  man  for  leader  that  the  out- 
fit contained,  and  if  he  had  erred  in  being  slack  and 
over-confident  it  was  only  because  they  never  had 
been  molested  seriously  since  they  had  taken  to  the 
Twin  Buttes  country,  and,  with  the  exception  of  Ack- 
erman,  he  secretly  felt  less  security  than  any  of  the 
others.  Thanks  to  his  earlier  activities  and  clever 
distortion  of  facts  as  to  why  he  had  crossed  the  Deep- 
water  to  live  in  the  Buttes,  the  outfit  had  not  been 
bothered;  and  the  Twin  Buttes  section  had  become 

290 


Scouting  as  a  Fine  Art 


taboo,  in  recent  years,  to  everyone,  no  man  caring  to 
risk  his  life  in  penetrating  that  locality  until  Johnny 
Nelson  appeared.  And  although  Ackerman  had 
preached  disaster,  he  had  preached  it  so  long  and  so 
much  that  he  was  regarded  as  a  calamity  howler. 

There  were  two  comparatively  safe  ways  to  reach 
the  Buttes,  when  once  the  last  high,  intervening  ridge 
was  attained.  One  led  to  the  far  side  of  the  northern 
Twin  and  was  hidden  by  it  from  the  sight  of  anyone 
on  the  other  butte;  the  second  course  swept  to  the 
south,  running  through  arroyos  and  draws,  and  shel- 
tered by  the  dense  growths  of  pine;  and  it  not  only 
was  a  shorter  and  easier  course,  but  allowed  an  occa- 
sional glimpse  of  the  way  Johnny  had  scaled  the  great 
southern  wall. 

Reaching  the  ridge,  Quigley  paused  to  rest,  and 
weighed  the  merits  of  the  two  approaches.  He  could 
be  as  clever  and  cautious  as  the  next  man  when  he 
felt  that  the  occasion  demanded  it;  and  the  events  of 
the  last  few  days  told  him  that  such  an  occasion  had 
arrived.  Easing  the  bandages,  he  chose  the  southern 
course  and  led  the  way  again. 

"There's  his  smoke,"  grunted  Purdy,  trudging  along 
in  the  rear.  "Wonder  how  much  grub  that  ki-yote's 
got?" 

"Don't  know;  an*  don't  care  much,"  replied  Quig- 
ley. "It  don't  make  no  difference.  Th'  time  will 

291 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


come  when  he's  got  to  come  down,  an'  bein'  there 
when  he  does  is  our  job.  If  I  was  plumb  shore  he 
was  workin'  on  his  own  hook  my  worries  would  sim- 
mer down  a  whole  lot;  an'  until  I  am  shore,  I  ain't 
overlookin'  nothin'." 

"You  ain't  got  no  business  comin'  out  here  with 
an  arm  like  that,"  growled  Purdy.  "Three  of  us  are 
enough." 

"  I  ain't  got  no  business  bein'  nowhere  else,"  re- 
torted Quigley.  "An'  as  long  as  yo're  ridin'  that 
subject  again,  lemme  tell  you  that  from  now  on  till  we 
get  him,  I'm  goin'  to  stay  right  there.  My  eyes  are 
all  right,  an'  my  Colt  arm  is  th'  same  as  ever.  Bend 
low  here  an'  f oiler  my  steps  close  —  on  th'  jump, 
now!" 

Reaching  the  end  of  the  wide  valley  they  came  to 
a  great  widening  of  the  lower  levels,  where  the  can- 
yon emerged  from  between  the  Buttes  and  became  lost 
in  the  great  sink  which  surrounded  the  Twins.  Quig- 
ley knew  the  sink  from  former  explorations,  and  he 
chose  ridges  and  draws  without  hesitation  and  kept 
well  hidden  at  all  times  from  anyone  up  on  the  butte. 
In  order  to  continue  in  this  security  it  was  necessary 
to  go  almost  to  the  eastern  wall  of  the  sink  in  a  wide 
detour,  and  the  chief  unhesitatingly  chose  that  route. 

Because  of  an  instinct  born  from  years  of  wood- 
craft, Quigley's  eyes  missed  nothing.  Had  he  been 

292 


Scouting  as  a  Fine  Art 


riding  down  Hastings'  single  street  he  unconsciously 
would  have  observed  every  tin  can,  every  old  boot, 
and  his  memory,  automatically  photographing  than 
with  remarkable  fidelity,  would  have  filed  the  pictures 
away  for  future  reference.  Crossing  a  sage  hen's  track 
he  unconsciously  observed  it  minutely,  and  he  could 
have  told  quite  an  interesting  and  intimate  tale  of 
what  the  bird  had  been  doing. 

Plunging  into  a  deep  gully,  he  swung  up  the  oppo- 
site slope  on  a  diagonal,  and  stopped  suddenly,  his 
busy  mind  instantly  sidetracking  its  cogitations  to  take 
care  of  a  matter  immediately  under  his  eyes.  Three 
*mall  stones  lay,  dark  and  damp,  against  the  sun-dried, 
tvhitish  rock  stratum  which  formed  the  surface  of  the 
ridge.  Above  the  level  of  his  shoulders  several  green 
twigs  were  well  chewed,  two  of  them  bitten  clean 
off,  and  a  dried  lather  still  clung  to  them.  Shoving 
his  elbows  out  from  his  side  to  check  his  companion, 
he  looked  closely  at  both  signs,  and  then,  bending  over, 
hurried  along  the  slope  searching  the  ground  and 
swiftly  disappeared  around  a  bowlder.  Purdy  fol- 
lowed and  bent  over  beside  him.  In  a  small  patch  of 
sand  and  clay  which  filled  a  hollow  in  the  rock  floor 
was  the  print  of  a  hoof,  and  extending  in  front  of  it 
lay  the  imprint  of  the  forward  half  of  a  moccasin. 

Quigley  glanced  up  quickly  at  his  companion. 
"  Fresh  made ! "  he  grunted.  "  Leads  away  from  thf 

293 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


butte.  Might  be  two  men,  one  of  'em  ridin'.  Wait 
here,  an'  lay  low!" 

Going  on  a  few  steps  he  shook  his  head  slowly  and 
disappeared  around  a  thicket.  Ahead  of  him  was  a 
wide  streak  of  sand  and  gravel  and  he  hurried  to  it 

"  Two  men  on  foot,  leadin'  a  hoss ! "  he  growled. 
"Wish  I  had  time  to  foller  these  tracks;  but  there's 
no  tellin'  how  far  they  go."  He  paused  a  moment  in 
indecision,  tempted  to  go  on,  but  shaking  his  head  he 
wheeled  and  ran  back  to  Purdy,  cursing  the  increased 
throbbing  of  his  arm. 

" Purdy!"  he  whispered  incisively;  "somethin's 
rotten!  One  cayuse;  two  men.  Wait  a  minute!"  and 
he  sent  his  thoughts  racing  over  every  possibility. 
44 They  can  be  strangers  that  blundered  through  here; 
or  friends  of  Nelson's.  If  they  was  strangers,  an' 
passed  th'  Buttes,  as  that  back  trail  indicates,  they 
wouldn't  try  to  keep  hidden,  an'  either  Art  or  Frank 
would  'a'  seen  them,  an'  follered  them.  If  they  was 
friends  of  his — d — n  it!  Wish  I  had  taken  th'  trou- 
ble to  hunt  up  th'  tracks  of  that  black  cayuse  some 
place  where  they  showed  up  plain  an'  deep!" 

Purdy  thoughtfully  rubbed  his  head.  "  Mebby  that 
cayuse  wandered  down,  an'  th'  boys  led  it  off  to  hide 


it." 


"Both  of  'em?"  snapped  Quigley.     "One  had  to 
stay  on  guard.    An'  they  can't  turn  boots  into  mocca« 

294 


Scouting  as  a  Fine  Art 


sins.  Cuss  it!  Why  would  innercent  strangers  wear 
moccasins  in  this  kind  of  country?  They  wouldn't, 
unless  they  was  up  to  some  deviltry.  Purdy,  we  got 
a  job  on  our  hands.  First,  we'll  see  Art  an'  Frank — • 
no  we  won't:  /  will.  You  f oiler  these  tracks  an'  find 
out  what  you  can.  Don't  foller  'em  longer  than  an 
hour.  We'll  meet  right  here.  If  you  hear  three  shots 
so  close  together  that  they  sound  like  a  ripple,  you 
cut  h — 1-bent  for  th*  ranch,  by  a  roundabout  way,'1 
and  he  was  gone  before  Purdy  could  answer  him. 

Purdy  ran  forward,  his  gaze  on  the  ground,  and 
every  time  the  trail  became  lost  on  clean,  hard  rock, 
he  swore  impatiently  and  ran  in  ever-widening  circles 
until  he  found  it  again.  Suddenly  he  crouched  low 
and  froze  in  his  tracks.  In  an  opening  at  the  bottom 
of  a  deep,  heavily  wooded  draw  lying  just  ahead  of  him 
he  caught  sight  of  a  black  horse,  saddled,  cropping 
grass.  The  animal  threw  up  its  head,  looked  at  him, 
flattened  its  ears  and  backed  away,  ready  to  bolt.  And 
under  his  eyes  lay  four  pairs  of  moccasin  prints,  two 
•of  them  pointing  back  toward  the  Buttes. 

"It's  his  bronc!"  growled  Purdy  under  his  breath. 
"How  th'  devil — !"  Wild  conjectures  filed  into 
his  mind  in  swift  confusion,  and,  wrestling  with  them, 
he  wheeled  sharply  and  dashed  back  the  way  he  had 
come,  his  Colt  ready  for  action. 

Quigley,  calling  into  play  every  trick  of  woodcraft 

295 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


that  he  knew,  kept  on  toward  the  Twin  Buttes  can- 
yon, silent,  alert,  never  once  leaving  cover.  The 
smoke  of  the  fire  up  on  the  butte  was  barely  discern- 
ible now  and  the  smoke  from  the  rustlers'  fire  at  the 
foot  of  the  trail  could  not  be  seen  at  all.  Eagerly  he 
scrutinized  the  tops  of  the  two  buttes,  but  in  vain. 

Working  steadily  forward  with  the  caution  of  an 
Indian,  he  followed  and  kept  close  to  the  eastern  wall 
of  the  sink  until  directly  back  of  the  place  where  the 
trail  guard  should  be,  and  in  line  with  that  and  the 
lower  end  of  the  trail.  His  progress  now  became  slow, 
and  he  exercised  an  infinite  caution  and  patience.  Cover 
followed  cover,  and  every  few  yards  he  stopped  and 
waited,  his  senses  at  the  top  pitch  of  their  efficiency. 
Drawing  near  the  position  used  by  him  and  his  men 
in  guarding  the  mesa  trail  he  passed  within  fifty  feet 
of  Luke  Tedrue,  and  neither  knew  of  it.  Had  he  gone 
ten  feet  farther  forward  he  would  have  died  in  his 
tracks. 

He  stopped.  It  was  now  Art's  or  Frank's  turn  to 
show  some  sign  of  life.  Neither  of  them  had  any  need 
to  remain  quiet,  and  he  knew  that  under  such  circum- 
stances a  man  is  almost  certain  to  make  some  kind  of 
a  noise  within  a  reasonable  length  of  time. 

The  minutes  passed  in  absolute  sileftce,  and  finally 
he  could  wait  no  longer,  for  each  passing  minute  was 
precious  to  him,  and  he  silently  backed  away,  to  ap- 

296 


Scouting  as  a  Fine  Art 


proach  from  another  direction.  As  he  crept  past  a 
bowlder,  avoiding  every  growing  thing  and  every  twig 
or  loose  pebble,  he  glanced  along  a  narrow  opening 
between  some  rocks  and  a  thinning  of  the  brush,  and 
saw  two  sock-covered  feet,  toes  up.  It  took  him  a 
long  time  to  maneuver  so  that  he  could  see  enough  of 
the  body  to  be  sure  of  its  identity,  and  when  he  was 
sure  he  choked  back  a  curse. 

"  Fleming  I"  he  breathed.  "Knifed  through  th> 
throat!  An'  they  took  his  pants  an*  left  a  pair  of  blue 
ones.  Nelson  wore  black !  An'  Frank,  up  there  on  th' 
other  butte  —  I  can't  get  up  there  without  bein'  seen. 
Frank,  my  boy;  if  yo're  alive,  you'll  have  to  look  out 
for  yoreself ! " 

As  he  crawled  and  wriggled  and  dashed  back  over 
his  trail  his  racing  thoughts  threw  picture  after  pic- 
ture on  his  mental  screen,  until  every  possible  solution 
was  eliminated  and  only  the  probable  ones  remained; 
and  from  these  two  there  loomed  up  one  which  almost 
bore  the  stamp  of  certainty.  The  CL  outfit,  either 
wholly  or  in  part,  had  arrived  on  the  scene,  and  even 
now  might  be  attacking  the  ranch-houses.  Dashing 
around  a  pinnacle  of  granite,  he  sped  down  the  slope 
of  the  draw  where  Purdy,  behind  a  thicket,  awaited 
him. 

"Here,  Tom!"  softly  called  the  waiting  man,  aris- 
ing. 

297 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


"Quick!"  panted  Quiglcy.  "H— 1's  broke  loose 
with  all  th'  gates  open!  What  you  find?" 

"Nelson's  bronc.  Th'  two  men  that  led  it  cached 
it  in  a  draw  an'  went  back  again  towards  th'  Buttes. 
"What's  up?" 

"Everything,  I  reckon.  Fleming's  dead  —  knifed," 
panted  Quigley,  leading  the  way  westward.  "Frank 

—  I  don't  know — about  him.    Never  —  had  a  chance 

—  Art  didn't.     Good  thing — I  reckon  we  come  —  th' 
way  we  did.    There  —  ain't  no  tellin'  — what  we  might 
'a'   run — up  ag'in.     D — n  'em!    I'll  never  leave — 
th'  hills !    Dead  or  —  alive,  I  stays !  " 

"I've  located  here  —  permanent  myself,"  growled 
Purdy.  "Fleming  knifed,  huh?  Mebby — mebby 
they're  Injuns!  Knife-play  an'  moccasins!  I  — 
betcha ! " 

"D — n  fool!  "  gritted  Quigley  savagely;  and  then, 
remembering  his  companion's  declaration  of  perma- 
nent location,  he  relented.  "He  wasn't  —  scalped!" 

"  Apaches  —  don't  scalp !  "  grunted  Purdy  doggedly. 

"But  they  make  —  tracks,  don't  they?"  blazed 
Quigley.  "I  tell  you  —  I  know  Injun  tracks  —  like 
I  know  my  name.  They're — white  men ! " 


298 


CHAPTER  XXII 

"TWO  i JUTS" 

L'JKE  TEDRUE  brushed  flics.  Since  a  little  after 
dawn  he  had  brushed  them  continually,  insist- 
ently, doggedly,  with  an  enforced  calmness  and  apathy 
which  only  an  iron,  stubborn  will  made  possible;  and 
had  they  suddenly  desisted  in  their  eager  explorations 
he  would  have  kept  on  brushing  from  sheer  force  of 
habit.  But  while  his  hands  and  arms  were  moving 
mechanically,  his  mind  was  having  an  argument  with 
itself  concerning  his  ears,  and  a  vague  uneasiness  made 
him  restless. 

He  suspected  that  he  had  heard  a  sound,  one  which 
only  a  moving  body  would  have  made ;  but  it  had  been 
so  slight  that  he  had  not  recognized  it  at  the  time, 
and  it  was  only  through  the  persistent,  indefatigable 
urging  of  some  subconscious  sense  that  he  was  now 
trying  to  force  his  memory  to  repeat  it  for  him,  to 
give  him  a  hold  upon  it  that  he  might  describe  and 
classify  it.  Exasperated,  fretful,  uneasy,  he  called 
himself  a  fool  with  too  zealous  an  imagination;  but 
he  kept  straining  at  his  reluctant  memory,  trying  to 
force  it  to  leap  back  and  grasp  the  elusive  impression. 
Vexed  and  anxious,  he  at  last  wriggled  back  among  the 

299 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


bowlders  which  sheltered  him,  determined  to  prove 
or  disprove  the  haunting  subconscious  sense.  It  had 
become  maddening,  a  ghost  he  simply  had  to  lay. 

Realizing  that  the  moving  object  is  the  more  readily 
seen,  Luke  moved  slowly  and  with  no  regard  for  dig- 
nity; and  he  proceeded,  an  inch  at  a  time,  upon  his  lean,; 
old  stomach.  Nothing  was  too  small  or  insignificant1 
to  escape  his  notice,  for  his  eyes,  close  to  the  ground, ; 
first  took  in  the  entire  field  of  vision  with  one  quick, 
sweeping  glance,  and  then,  beginning  with  the  more 
distant  objects,  examined  everything  in  sight  as  though 
he  had  lost  something  of  great  value  and  of  size  in- 
finitesimal. Another  few  inches  of  slow,  laborious 
progress,  and  another  searching  scrutiny,  his  ears  as 
busy  as  his  eyes.  In  half  an  hour  he  had  covered  ten 
feet,  and  at  the  end  of  an  hour  he  had  made  it  twenty. 
And  then,  as  he  glanced  around  to  obtain  a  general 
and  preliminary  view  of  a  new  vista,  his  eyes  passed 
over  a  little  patch  of  sand,  and  instantly  flashed  back 
to  it,  regarding  it  with  an  unwinking  intentness. 

He  hitched  forward  again,  more  rapidly,  and  gained 
three  feet  before  he  stopped  to  peer  about  him.  At 
last  he  came  to  the  sand  patch,  which  lay  between  a 
bowlder  and  a  clump  of  dry,  dead,  and  rustly  brush;, 
which  accounted  for  its  having  a  story  to  tell.  It  was- 
the  only  way  a  cautious  man  could  have  proceeded? 
and  the  print  of  the  heel  of  a  hand  and  the  five  little 

300 


Two  I  juts 


dots  where  the  tips  of  thumb  and  fingers  had  rested 
was  well  to  one  side  of  it.  Furthermore,  there  was 
a  smooth  streak  across  it  which  contained  two  other 
streaks  along  the  outer  edges  of  the  first  one.  The 
story  was  plain :  a  stomach,  followed  by  two  legs,  had 
been  dragged  across  the  little  patch  of  sand. 

Luke  raised  his  educated  eyes  and  looked  around 
him,  but  now  his  field  of  vision  was  considerably  con- 
stricted, for  he  paid  attention  only  to  those  few  spaces 
in  the  brush  and  among  the  rocks  which  a  clever  man 
would  be  likely  to  use;  and  being  a  clever  man  him- 
self, he  unerringly  picked  certain  openings  and  almost 
instantly  riveted  his  gaze  on  a  sign:  a  toe  print  at  his 
left.  Close  to  it  was  another,  and  the  way  in  which 
the  sand  had  been  pushed  up  told  him  that  the  first  had 
been  made  by  a  man  crawling  west;  and  the  other 
announced  to  him  that  it  had  been  made  by  a  man 
moving  east.  Luke  deduced  that  the  same  man,  re- 
turning over  his  own  trail,  had  made  the  second  as 
well  as  the  first. 

Luke  was  relieved,  and,  having  a  safe  trail  to  fol- 
low, he  pushed  on  rapidly  but  silently,  soon  reaching 
the  place  where  it  ended;  and  in  plain  sight  of  him, 
through  the  thin  growth  of  brush,  was  Fleming's  body. 
One  glance  at  it  and  Luke  turned,  following  the  trail 
back  as  he  had  come;  and  an  hour  later,  having  learned 
a  great  deal,  he  ran  and  crept,  leaped  and  wriggled 

301 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


op  to  the  place  where  his  friend  lay  and  petulantly 
cursed  the  flies. 

"Ijut  Number  Two,"  said  Luke  pleasantly,  "where 
are  you?" 

"Talkin'  to  hisself  again,"  grumbled  a  low  voice 
from  the  mysterious  passages  under  a  great,  tumbled 
mass  of  bowlders.  "  If  a  body  meet  a  body,  reachin' 
for  th'  rye,"  continued  the  vexed  voice,  "whose  treat 
is  it?" 

"  Depends  on  who  can't  keep  still,"  answered  Luke 
brightly.  "We  are  two  ijuts,"  he  said  positively  and 
flatly. 

"Well,  I  allus  like  a  man  that  speaks  his  mind, 
even  if  he  is  a  liar,"  commented  the  mysterious  voice. 
"D — n  these  flies!  I  crawled  in  here  to  get  rid  of 
'em;  but  they  come  right  along.  An'  a  little  while 
back  I  smelled  a  striped  kitty-cat.  I  knowed  what  it 
was  because  th'  wind  wasn't  blowin'  from  yore  direc* 
tion." 

"Cuss  his  impudence  1"  said  Luke.  "He  takes  me 
for  a  wild  flower!  A  rose,  mebby.  An'  me  comin' 
out  here  to  save  his  worthless  life !  " 

"You  didn't  do  nothin'  of  th'  kind,"  contradicted 
the  sepulchral  voice.  "You  come  out  here  to  prac- 
tice with  Colonel  Bowie!  I  can  prove  it  before  any 
<ool  jury.  D — n  th'  flies ! " 

"What  flies?"  innocently  demanded  Luke,  his  voice 

302 


Two  I  juts 


suggesting  a  hot  curiosity  and  a  thirsty  yearning  for 
knowledge. 

"Time,"  said  the  other.  "Time  flies;  an1  I've  ha£ 
these  flies  all  th'  time.  It's  time  they  flies  away,  to  fly 
back  another  day.  You  leave  yours  behind  you,  Cow 
Face,  if  you  visit  me." 

"Ain't  got  none;  an'  ain't  seen  none,"  replied  Luke 
cheerfully. 

"Twice  a  liar,"  observed  Johnny  pleasantly.  "Why 
don't  you  learn  to  speak  th'  truth  sometimes?  I'm 
worried  about  yore  soul." 

"  I'm  worried  about  my  belly  an'  my  knees.  They're 
scraped  clean,  wrigglin'  over  rock." 

"'Tain't  possible;  not  at  yore  age,"  commented 
Johnny.  "Th'  accumulations  of  years  can't  be  got  rid 
of  so  easy,  Old  Timer." 

"No  wonder  they  chased  him  off  th'  Tin  Cup," 
grinned  Luke.  "We  are  two  ijuts." 

"Listen  to  th'  jackass,"  stid  Johnny.  "Th'  flies 
that  flew  an'  flied;  th'  flies  that  crawled  an'  died;  th' 
flies  that  buzzed  an'  —  an' — holy  h — 1!  Did  you 
ever  see  so  many  of  'em?" 

"I  done  listened  to  th'  jackass,"  grunted  Luke. 
"An'  now  I  observes,  gentle  but  firm:  We  are  two 
ijuts." 

"We  are  one  ijut,"  corrected  Johnny.  "You  are 
th'  one.  A  soft  answer  turneth  away  wrath." 

303 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


"I  am  an  ijut;  an'  you  are  an  ijut,"  replied  Luke 
with  exaggerated  patience.  "  That  makes  two ;  an'  so 
we  are  two  ijuts." 

" Can't  you  say  nothin'  else,  One  Ijut?"  demanded 
Johnny  peevishly.  "  Yo're  tiresome;  yo're  a  repeater, 
rim  fire,  Chestnut,  model  of  1873.  I'm  lazy  by  na- 
ture; but  doin'  nothin'  all  th'  time  is  hard  work.  It 
don't  set  right.  They  have  taken  her  to  Georgia, 
there  to  wear  her  life  away.  An'  my  neck  aches  from 
lookin'  up,  an'  holdin'  my  head  out  on  th'  end  of  it. 
My  stummick  an'  my  elbows,  my  knees  an'  my  toes 
all,  all  ache.  They  are  rock-galled.  As  she  toils 
'mid  th'  cotton  an'  th'  corn." 

"Cane,"  corrected  Luke.  "Yore  appalin'  igner- 
ence  is  discouragin'.  We  are  two  ijuts." 

"All  right;  I  quit,"  said  Johnny  wearily.  "Have 
it  yore  own  way;  mebby  we  are.  But  it  could  'a'  been 
corn  just  as  well  as  cane,  anyhow.  Why  are  we  two 
ijuts?" 

"  Because  we  are  holdin'  th'  bag,"  said  Luke  sadly. 

Johnny  turned  around  and  stuck  his  head  out. 
"Yes?"  he  inquired,  with  a  rising  inflection.  "I'm 
plumb  insulted.  I  ain't  never  held  no  bag;  not 
never!" 

"'Tain't  never  too  late  to  learn,"  said  Luke  sor- 
rowfully. "Th'  snipe  has  come,  an'  went;  an'  we're 
III//  holdin'  th'  bag." 


"Two  I  juts" 


"  Let's  fill  it  full  of  flies,"  suggested  Johnny.  "  Say  I 
If  you  ain't  seen  no  flies,  how  did  all  of  them  get 
squashed  on  yore  face?" 

"  Come  flyin'  out  of  yore  cave  just  now  an'  bumped 
into  me  full  speed,"  replied  Luke,  grinning.  "We 
have  been  out-guessed,  we  have.  They  smelled  us  out. 
We're  two  tenderfeet  in  a  wild,  bad  camp.  Some- 
body's likely  to  hurt  us,  first  thing  you  know.  What 
did  you  see  when  you  wasn't  killin'  flies?" 

"Th'  sky,  th'  canyon,  an'  th'  butte." 

"Uh-huh;  so  did  I.  I  saw  th'  butte,  th'  canyon, 
an'  th'  sky.  Then  I  moved  an'  saw  hand  prints,  belly 
prints,  toe  prints,  knee  prints,  an'  other  kinds  of 
prints.  Yore  friends  stacked  th'  deck  on  us  an'  dealt 
'em  from  th'  middle.  Now  what?" 

"  First,  we  eat,"  said  Johnny,  arising  with  alacrity. 
"  Then,  mebby,  we  eat  again.  We  drink  an'  we  wash. 
I'm  near  half  as  dirty  as  you.  What  have  you  found 
out?" 

"  Did  you  ever  see  two  calves,  wobble-kneed,  friskin' 
around  lookin'  saucy  an'  full  of  h — 1  an'  wisdom;  but 
actin'  plumb  foolish?" 

"  I  shore  did.  I  never  saw  no  other  kind,  unless  it 
was  sick.  Stiff  back,  humped  in  defiance;  tail  tryin* 
to  stand  up;  stiff-laigged,  when  they  didn't  buckle  un- 
expected; jumpin'  sideways,  tryin'  to  butt,  an*  allus 
hungry.  I  did,  Old  Timer;  lots  an'  lots  of  times." 

305 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


"Well,  them's  us,"  sighed  Luke.  "You  hold  yore 
trap  an'  listen  while  I  speaks  my  piece.  I  saw  them 
signs,  like  I  said.  Th'  cuss  that  made  'em  sneaked 
right  up  to  my  back  door,  went  around  th'  side  of  my 
house,  stopped  just  in  time  for  his  health,  backed  off, 
saw  his  friend's  body,  an'  my  pants,  an'  backed  off  some 
more.  Then  he  climbed  up  on  two  good  feet  an'  made 
toe  prints  plumb  deep.  He  didn't  run;  no,  ma'am;  he 
just  telegraphed  hisself;  never  stopped  for  nothin'. 
He  sped,  he  shot,  he  moved!" 

"An'  us  two  ijuts  layin'  out  here  in  th'  sun  rill  we 
was  cussed  near  jerked  meat!"  growled  Johnny.  "I 
call  that  blamed  unpolite." 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  we  was  two  ijuts  ?  When  an  oldei 
man  speaks  you  want  to  keep  yore  mouth  shut  an' 
yore  ear  tabs  open.  Th'  young  bucks  go  out  an'  steal 
th'  horses  an'  lift  th'  scalps;  but  th'  old  fellers  make 
good  talk  around  th'  council  fires.  Stick  that  in  yore 
peace  pipe  an'  smoke  it.  Might  be  good  for  your 
health  sometime." 

"  Yo're  a  purty  spry  scalper  yoreself,"  admitted 
Johnny.  "Regular  old  he-whizzer;  but  you  got  no 
morals,  an'  a  very  bad,  disgustin'  habit.  I'm  surprised 
you  didn't  take  scalps,  too !  " 

"  You  let  the  Colonel  alone,"  warned  Luke.  "  Now, 
that  rustler  is  some  he-whizzer  hisself,  an'  he  won't 
need  nobody  to  tell  him  what  he  saw.  He's  done  told 

306 


Two  I  juts 


his  tribe  about  that;  an'  bein1  a  stranger  here  I'm  only 
guessin'.  Say  what's  on  yore  mind." 

"Th'  young  buck  will  now  talk  at  th'  council  fire," 
grinned  Johnny.  "  Yo're  right,  for  once.  It  wasn't  th1 
cook.  I  never  saw  a  cook  yet  that  could  move  around 
so  nobody  could  hear  him.  It  wasn't  Gates,  because 
he's  wounded  several;  an'  I  don't  think  it  was  that 
other  feller,  because  somehow  I  ain't  feverishly  ad- 
mirin'  his  brains.  That  leaves  Quigley;  an'  he  ain't 
no  fool  all  th'  time.  I  can  see  him  beatin'  hell  an' 
high-water  to  his  three  stone  shacks,  where  his  friends 
are,  an'  where  his  guns,  grub,  clothes,  an'  other  things 
are.  I  can  see  four  men  lookin'  out  of  four  loopholes. 
They  are  if  they  ain't  jumped  th'  country;  an'  if  they 
has,  we'll  let  'em  go. 

"Takin'  a  new,  fresh  holt,  I'd  say  that  they  don't 
know  that  we'd  let  'em  go ;  an'  they  don't  know  how 
many  we  are,  or  where  all  of  us  are  located.  They 
don't  aim  to  lead  us  a  chase ;  that  is,  mebby  they  don't. 
Them  shacks  are  shore  strong;  an'  they  don't  know 
how  far  they  might  get  if  they  run  for  it.  'Tain't  like 
open  country — they  got  just  four  places  to  ride  out 
of  that  sink  an'  they  all  can  be  easy  guarded." 

"They  won't  come  out  th'  way  they  went  in,"  said 
Luke.  "That  would  be  risky  an'  foolish;  so  they's 
only  three  places  left." 

"A  wise  man  never  does  what  he  ought  to  do," 

3°7 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


said  Johnny.  "Now,  I'll  bet  they  are  either  in  them 
stone  houses,  or  some  place  else,"  he  grinned.  "Th' 
only  way,  after  all,  to  see  a  good  man's  hand,  is  to  call 
it.  Me  an5  you,  bein'  amazin'  curious,  will  do  just  that. 
If  they're  in  them  houses  they'll  be  expectin'  us ;  they'll 
turn  th'  *  Welcome '  sign  to  th'  wall  an'  smoke  up  them 
loopholes.  Don't  interrupt  me  yet !  I'm  long-winded 
an'  hard  to  stop.  Th'  question  is :  Are  you  primed  to 
wrastle  this  thing  out,  just  me  an'  you,  or  shall  I  watch 
'em  while  you  go  back  to  th'  CL  for  help?  That — " 

"I  will  interrupt!"  snorted  Luke  heatedly.  "If  it 
wasn't  that  yo're  only  a  fool  infant,  d — d  if  I  wouldn't 
fan  yore  saddle  endl  I  ain't  never  yelled  for  help 
when  it  wasn't  needed;  an'  lots  of  times  when  it  was 
needed  I  forgot  to  yell.  Too  busy,  mebby.  You've 
been  running  things  with  a  high  hand  out  here,  an' 
yore  head  reminds  me  of  th'  head  of  a  cow  bit  by  a 
snake.  It's  swelled  scandalous.  I'm  goin'  to  show 
you  how  to  get  four  men  out  of  them  loopholes.  Bein' 
young  an'  green,  you'd  likely  want  to  crawl  in  an'  pull 
'em  out.  But  me,  bein'  wise,  will  use  brains,  an'  more 
brains.  I  can  make  a  cat  skin  itself." 

"  You  want  to  be  plumb  shore  that  it  ain't  one  of 
them  striped  kitties  —  they  look  a  lot  alike  in  a  poor 
light;  an'  that  entrance  canyon  is  shore  poor  light.  I 
reckon  we  won't  eat,  yet.  We  better  rustle  for  their 
ranch." 

308 


Two  I  juts 


"  But  Logan  wants  to  know  them  facts  that  he  sent 
us  after,"  growled  Luke  regretfully. 

"  We  ain't  got  'em ;  an!  we  can't  get  'em.  Them  fel- 
lers won't  do  no  rustlin'  now,  so  how  can  we  trail  'em? 
They're  too  cussed  busy  lookin'  out  for  their  skins 
about  now.  An1  only  two  of  'em  ain't  wounded;  Purdy 
an'  th'  cook." 

"How  many  cows  they  got?" 

"Near  two  hundred." 

"  Holy  Jumpin'  Jerusalem ! "  snorted  Luke.  "We're 
lucky  that  we  still  got  th'  ranch-house  an'  th'  river !  " 

"  We're  wastin'  time,"  growled  Johnny,  impatiently. 
"  There's  no  telling  what  they're  doin'.  Come  on. 
Bein'  desperate,  mebby  they're  roundin'  up  to  make  a 
drive.  Come  on ! " 

It  was  past  mid-afternoon  when  the  two  punchers 
looked  down  into  the  QE  valley  and  found  relief  at  the 
sight  of  the  cows  lazily  feeding.  They  were  scattered 
all  over  the  range  and  both  men  knew  that  no  attempt 
had  been  made  to  round  them  up. 

Going  down  the  blind-canyon  trail,  they  crossed  the 
range,  climbed  the  opposite  cliff  and  finally  stopped  in 
front  of  the  stone  houses.  A  gun  barrel  projected 
from  a  loophole  in  the  south  wall  of  the  house  nearest 
the  canyon,  and  four  saddled  horses  were  in  the  smaller 
corral 

309 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


"  There  they  arc,"  said  Johnny.  A  bullet  stirred  his 
hair  and  he  drew  back  from  the  rim.  "  We  got  to  get 
'em.  Start  skinnin'  that  cat,  Old  Timer." 

"  It'll  shore  take  a  lot  of  skinnin',"  growled  Luke. 

"Not  if  we  uses  'brains  an'  more  brains,'"  jeered 
Johnny.  "Th'  young  buck  will  now  be  heard  shootin' 
off  his  mouth  at  th'  council  fire;  an'  you  listen  close, 
Oneljut!" 

"  Have  yore  say,"  said  Luke,  covering  !a  loophole 
which  showed  signs  of  activity. 

"We've  got  to  move  fast,  before  they  learn  that 
there's  only  two  of  us,"  said  Johnny.  "When  them 
houses  was  built  they  was  laid  out  with  th'  idea  of  men 
bein'  in  all  of  'em;  an'  they'd  be  cussed  hard  to  lick, 
then.  But  I  reckon  they're  all  in  that  one  house.  There 
ain't  men  enough  to  hold  'em  all ;  an'  so  they  favored  th1 
one  near  th'  canyon.  We  got  to  keep  that  door  shut  so 
they  can't  get  out  an'  away.  I'll  do  that  after  dark; 
an'  I'll  stampede  them  cayuses.  That  leaves  'em  no 
chance  to  make  a  dash  an'  ride  for  it.  Now  you  see  that 
little  trickle  of  water  flowin'  under  th'  houses?  That's 
their  water  supply;  I  know  something  about  that  crick; 
but  that's  another  job  for  th'  dark.  Take  a  look  over 
there,  where  it  turns.  See  that  dirt  bank,  on  th'  bend? 
That's  where  they  turned  it  out  of  its  course  an'  sent 
it  flowin'  in  th'  ditch  leadin'  to  th'  houses.  Do  you 
reckon  you  could  cut  that  bank  with  Colonel  Bowie  an1 

310 


Two  Ijuts 


throw  a  little  dam  across  th'  ditch?  'Tain't  wide;  only 
a  couple  of  feet.  I — " 

Luke  fired,  and  grunted  regretfully.  "  Missed  him, 
d — n  it !  "  he  swore,  reloading.  "  Gettin'  so  you  can 
find  work  for  my  knife,  huh?"  he  chuckled.  "Not 
bein'  blind,  I  see  th'  bank  an'  th'  bend.  An'  if  I  can't 
turn  that  water  back  th'  way  it  used  to  go,  I'll  fold  up 
an'  die.  This  is  like  old  times.  You  must  'a'  had  a 
real  elegant,  bang-up  time  out  here,  crawlin'  around  an' 
raisin'  h — 1  with  'em.  What  a  grand  place  for  th' 
Colonel!  I  shore  missed  a  lot;  but  I'm  here  now,  an' 
with  both  feet !  Sing  yore  song ;  I'm  listenin'." 

"It's  sung,"  grinned  Johnny;  "  an'  now  we  got  to 
dance." 

"  I  ain't  as  spry  as  I  used  to  be,"  grunted  Luke;  ** so 
I'll  have  to  make  them  fellers  do  th'  dancin'." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 
"ALL  BUT  TH'  cows" 

GATES,  the  wounded,  tossed  restlessly  in  his  bunk, 
and  finally  rolled  over  and  faced  the  dark  room. 

"  Never  was  so  wide  awake  in  my  life,"  he  grum- 
bled. "Been  settin'  around  too  much  lately.  If  I 
wanted  to  stay  awake  I'd  be  as  sleepy  as  th'  devil." 

"Better  try  it  again,"  counseled  Quigley,  shift- 
ing from  his  loophole.  "You  don't  want  to  be  sleepy 
tomorrow  when  yo're  on  guard." 

"  Tom,"  said  Gates,  ignoring  the  advice.  "  I've  been 
doin'  some  thinkin'.  A  feller  does  a  lot  of  thinkin1 
when  he  can't  sleep.  We  made  a  couple  of  mistakes, 
holin'  up  like  this.  In  th'  first  place,  if  we  had  to  hole 
up,  we  should  'a'  occupied  both  end  houses,  'stead  of 
only  one.  This  way,  they  can  walk  right  up  to  within 
twenty  feet  of  us,  use  th'  cook  shack,  th'  grub  in  th' 
store-house,  an'  them  store-house  loopholes,  which  is 
worse.  If  we  had  both  end  houses,  two  men  in  each, 
they  couldn't  get  anywhere  close  to  us  except  along  th' 
crick  an'  up  on  th'  cliff." 

"  Yes ;  I  reckon  so,"  said  Quigley.  "  'Tain't  too  late 
yet,  mebby.  I  didn't  like  th'  idea  of  splittin'  up  our 
forces.  As  far  as  grub  is  concerned,  we're  near  as  well 

312 


"AU   but   ih'   Cows 


off  that  way  as  we  are  in  our  water  supply.  We  got 
grub  in  here  for  two  months,  an*  plenty  of  cartridges 
if  we  don't  get  reckless  with  'em.  Of  course,  I  wish 
that  other  case  was  in  here,  too;  it'd  give  us  another 
thousand  rounds  for  th'  rifles;  but  I  ain't  worryin'  none 
about  that.  An'  I'm  purty  near  shore,  now,  that  there's 
only  two  of  'em  fightin'  us:  Nelson  an'  that  Tedrue, 
judgin'  from  th'  knife-work." 

"That's  th'  way  I  figger  it,"  agreed  Gates.  "An* 
that's  why  we  shouldn't  'a'  holed  up  like  this.  Me  an* 
th'  cook  could  'a'  held  this  house,  while  you  an'  Purdy 
was  on  th'  outside  stalkin'  'em.  Any  man  that  can  stalk 
like  you  can  is  plumb  wastin'  his  time  cooped  up  in 
here;  an'  you  could  'a'  made  things  sizzlin'  hot  for 
them  two  fellers,  good  as  they  are.  This  way,  they've 
got  us  located,  an'  they  only  have  to  look  for  trouble 
in  front  of  'em.  They  know  where  to  expect  it  all  th' 
time.  It  was  a  big  mistake." 

"Mebby,"  grunted  Quigley.  "We'll  try  it  in  here 
tonight  an'  tomorrow,  an'  then  if  we  don't  have  no 
luck,  I'll  fade  away  tomorrow  night  an'  give  'em  a 
taste  of  Injun  fightin'.  There  ain't  no  moon  this  week, 
so  we  can  pick  our  time  to  suit  ourselves." 

Purdy  leaned  his  rifle  against  the  wall  and  groped 
for  the  water  bucket.  "  I'll  make  a  try  for  that  extra 
case  of  cartridges  right  now,  if  you  say  th'  word,"  he 
bffered-  "Huh!  We  shore  drink  a  lot  of  water,"  he 

313 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


grunted.  "I  filled  this  pail  before  sundown,  an*  it's 
near  empty  now.  Too  much  bacon,  I  reckon." 

Quigley  laughed  softly.  "  Water  is  one  thing  we 
don't  have  to  worry  about  at  all.  That  ditch  was  a 
great  idea." 

Could  he  have  followed  the  ditch  in  the  dark  he 
yould  have  been  surprised  to  have  seen  the  dam 
across  it,  and  the  cut  through  the  artificial  bank,  where 
Luke  Tedrue  and  a  commandeered  shovel  had  released 
the  little  stream  and  let  it  flow  to  Rustler  Creek  along 
its  old,  original  bed  down  a  shallow  gully.  That  was 
Johnny's  idea;  but  after  the  old  scout  had  carried  it 
out,  he  had  an  idea  of  his  own  which  pleased  him 
greatly,  and  he  acted  upon  it  without  loss  of  time. 

The  cook  stirred  and  sat  up,  feeling  for  his  pipe, 
which  was  always  his  first  act  upon  awakening.  He 
grunted  sleepily  and  sat  on  the  edge  of  his  bunk. 
"This  is  a  whole  lot  like  bein'  in  jail,"  he  yawned. 
"An*  what  do  you  think?  I  dreamed  that  somebody 
had  just  tapped  a  keg  of  beer,  an*  when  I  sidled  over 
to  see  that  none  of  it  was  wasted,  why  I  woke  up! 
That's  allus  my  luck.  How  soon'll  it  be  daylight? 
That  dream  made  me  thirsty.  Where's  that  cussed 
water  bucket?" 

"Right  where  it  was  th'  last  time  you  found  it," 
grinned  Purdy.  "  It  ain't  moved  none  at  all." 

"  Yo're  right,  it  ain't,"  grumbled  the  cook,  scraping 

3H 


All    but    th'   Cows 


a  tin  cup  across  the  bottom  of  the  pail.  "  It  never  does 
unless  /  do  it.  I'll  bet  four  bits  that  I've  filled  it  every 
time  it  got  empty;  an'  I'll  bet  four  bits  more  that  I  ain't 
goin'  to  fill  it  this  time,"  he  chuckled.  "There's  just 
enough  here  for  me.  Th'  next  gent  that  wants  a  drink 
will  be  observed  bendin'  over  th'  trapdoor  an'  fillin' 
it  for  hisself.  Here's  how!  An'  d — n  th'  beer  what 
only  comes  in  dreams." 

Gates  crawled  out  of  his  bunk  and  limped  to  the 
bucket.  "  Get  out  of  my  way,"  he  growled.  "  Speakin' 
of  beer  started  my  throat  to  raspin'.  No  you  don't; 
not  a-tall,"  he  grumbled,  pushing  the  cook  aside.  "  I'll 
wait  on  myself,  slugs  or  no  slugs.  I  ain't  no  teethin' 
infant,  even  if  I  am  full  of  holes."  He  crossed  to  the 
trapdoor  and  fumbled  around  in  the  dark.  "Huh! 
I  knowed  it  couldn't  get  far  away.  I've  been  kneelin' 
on  it  all  th'  time ! " 

"Better  lemme  do  that,"  offered  the  cook,  ad- 
vancing. 

"Better  yore  grandmother,"  said  Gates.  "No, 
ma'am;  you  put  on  too  many  airs,  you  do."  He  raised 
the  door.  "You  might  strain  yore  delicate  back, 
Cookie,  old  hoss.  An'  anyhow,  I'm  aimin'  to  spite 
you  for  that  unnecessary  remark  about  openin'  a  keg 
of  beer.  This  ain't  no  time  to  talk  about  things  like 
that."  He  leaned  down  and  swung  the  bucket,  but 
there  was  no  splash,  only  a  rattling,  tinny  thump. 

315 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


''Why,"  said  his  muffled  voice,  "there  ain't  no  water 
here!  Mebby  I  missed  it.  Why,  d — n  it,  there  ain't 
no  water  here  a-tall!  What  th' — n  His  voice  ceased 
abruptly  and  a  solid,  muffled  thump  came  up  through 
the  opening. 

The  cook,  leaning  forward  in  the  position  he  had 
frozen  in  when  he  had  grasped  the  significance  of  the 
sound  of  the  striking  bucket,  moved  toward  the  trap, 
feeling  before  him.  He  touched  the  edge  of  the  open- 
ing and  swiftly  felt  around  it.  Gates  was  not  there. 

"  D — n  it,  he's  fell  in !  "  he  muttered.  "  It  wasn't  no 
job  for  a  wounded  man  like  him,  bendin'  over  that 
way.  Here,  Purdy ! "  he  called.  "  Gimme  a  hand  with 
Ben.  He  plumb  keeled  over  an'  fell  in."  He  reached 
down  impatiently  and  felt  around.  "  H — 1 !  "  he 
yelled  as  an  up-thrust  hand  gripped  him,  jerked  him  off 
his  balance  and  pulled  him  down  through  the  opening. 
"Look  out,  fellers!"  he  shouted. 

A  second  thump,  softer  than  the  first,  ended  the  cry> 
and  Purdy,  leaping  forward,  slammed  shut  the  trap 
and  bolted  it.  "  More  knife-work !  "  he  gritted,  pale 
with  rage.  Arising,  he  leaped  toward  the  cabin  door, 
yanked  it  open  and  dashed  along  the  house,  staggering 
as  a  finger  of  flame  spurted  from  a  loophole  in  the  wall 
of  the  store-house,  but  recovered  his  balance  and  turned 
the  corner.  As  he  did  so  he  caught  sight  of  a  thick- 
ening in  the  darkness,  which  moved  swiftly  and  silendy 


All   but   W   Cows 


along  the  ditch,  and  he  fired  at  it.  Something  whizzed 
past  his  neck  and  rang  out,  sharp  and  clear  as  a  bell,  on 
the  end  wall  of  the  house.  He  answered  it  with  an- 
other shot  and  saw  the  blot  stagger  and  fall. 

From  the  ditch  came  a  spurt  of  fire  and  Purdy 
plunged  forward,  firing  as  he  fell.  Another  shot  an- 
swered him  and  again  he  fired,  but  with  a  weak  and 
shaking  hand.  Then  from  a  loophole  behind  him 
Quigley's  rifle  poked  out  and  sent  shot  after  shot  along 
the  ditch,  firing  on  a  gamble. 

As  the  rifle  spoke,  a  shadow  flitted  past  the  corner 
of  the  store-house,  passed  swiftly  and  silently  across 
the  space  between  the  two  houses  and  plunged  through 
the  open  door  of  the  rustlers'  stronghold.  It  tripped 
over  a  box  and  sprawled  headlong  just  as  Quigley 
wheeled  and  sent  a  bullet  through  the  space  Johnny  had 
occupied  an  instant  before. 

Leaping  to  his  feet,  Johnny  hurled  himself  upon  the 
rustler,  wrenched  the  rifle  loose  and  gripped  the 
owner's  throat.  Plunging,  heaving,  straining,  they 
thrashed  around  the  room,  smashing  into  bunks,  break- 
ing dishes;  hammering,  gouging,  biting,  choking,  they 
bumped  into  the  door,  plunged  through  the  opening 
and  carried  the  struggle  out  under  the  sky. 

Quigley,  his  face  purple  and  his  eyes  popping  out, 
almost  senseless  on  his  feet,  and  fighting  from  instinct, 
managed  to  break  the  grip  on  his  throat  and  showered 

317 


The  Man  from  Bar-20 


blows  on  his  enemy's  face.  Sinking  his  teeth  in  Johnny's 
upper  arm,  he  got  both  of  his  hands  around  Johnny's 
throat  and  closed  his  grip  with  all  his  weakened 
strength. 

Across  the  yard  they  reeled,  bumped  into  the  corral 
and  along  it,  following  the  slope  of  the  ground  without 
thought.  Johnny,  suffocating,  thrust  the  heel  of  his 
right  hand  against  his  enemy's  nose  and  pushed  up- 
ward and  back,  while  his  left  hand,  leaving  the  gripping 
fingers  around  his  throat,  smashed  heavily  into  Quig- 
ley's  stomach.  The  hands  relaxed,  loosened  their  grip 
and  fell  away,  and  before  they  could  regain  their  hold, 
Johnny's  chin  settled  firmly  against  his  chest  and  pro- 
tected his  windpipe.  Just  in  time  he  caught  Quigley's 
gun  hand  and  tore  the  Colt  out  of  it,  whereupon  Quig- 
ley  hammered  his  face  with  both  hands.  Shoving, 
wrestling,  reeling,  they  came  to  the  edge  of  the  ravine 
through  which  flowed  Rustler  Creek,  and,  plunging 
over  the  steep  bank,  rolled  to  the  bottom  and  stopped 
in  the  mud  and  water  of  the  creek  itself,  where  they 
fought  lying  down,  each  trying  desperately  to  remain 
an  top. 

Quigley's  hand  brushed  one  of  Johnny's  guns, 
gripped  it,  drew  it  out  and  shoved  the  muzzle  against 
his  enemy's  side.  As  he  pulled  the  trigger  Johnny 
writhed  swiftly  and  turned  the  muzzle  away.  Squirm- 
ing on  top,  he  again  turned  the  muzzle  away  as  Quig- 

318 


"All   lut   W   Cows 


ley  tired  the  second  time.    At  the  roar  of  the  shot  the 
rustler  grunted  and  grew  suddenly  limp. 

Logan  pushed  back  from  the  dinner  table  and 
glanced  out  of  the  window.  Shouting  an  exclamation 
he  leaped  for  the  door,  the  rest  of  the  outfit  piling  pell- 
mell  at  his  heels. 

A  black  horse,  carrying  double,  stopped  near  the 
door  and  eager  hands  caught  Luke  Tedrue  as  he  fell' 
from  Pepper's  back.  Johnny,  covered  with  mud,  dust, 
blood,  and  powder  grime,  his  clothes  torn  into  shreds 
and  his  face  a  battered  mass  of  red  and  black  and  blue 
flesh,  swayed  slightly,  grasped  the  saddle  horn  with 
both  hands  and  sat  stiffly  erect  again. 

"Good  Lord!"  shouted  Logan,  jumping  to  him. 
"Whatth'h— 1'sup?" 

"RusdinY1  muttered  Johnny.  "Luke's  brains  got 
foundered  in  th'  head  an'  he  pulled  three  of  'em  out 
of  a  hole;  but  I  made  Quigley  skin  th'  cat." 

"Are  they  all  gone  under?"  yelled  Logan  incredu- 
lously. 

"  All  but  th'  cows,"  sighed  Johnny,  and  strong  arms 
caught  him  as  he  fell. 


319 


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JAN 


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<,* 

OCT   5  1946 


IT  | 


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